It Was Like A Little Light
by CrimsonStarbird
Summary: In the dead of night, a cursed child is brought to Fairy Tail: a boy who destroys everything he touches. A boy named Gildarts Clive. At his wits' end, Makarov sends the boy to Tenrou Island, where there is no one around for him to hurt - or so Makarov believes... COMPLETE.
1. A Cursed Boy

_**A/N:** Just to avoid any confusion at the start, this story is set approximately forty years before canon. ~CS_

* * *

 **It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **One - A Cursed Boy**

At first glance, it could have been a monster which tore down the road that night.

The pale glow of the moon, the only source of light so far from civilization, painted the stallion's hide in silver and shadow. The rider's travelling cloak had slipped from one shoulder, and it billowed out behind him like a single malformed wing. Beneath, the flash of white-striped pyjamas could have been the ribcage of some fiendish beast; the caper of moonlight upon the stirrups the unsheathing of ferocious claws.

Yes, at that late hour, the horse and his rider might easily have been mistaken for a living nightmare – had there been any human observers around to make such a mistake. Only the bats dared to fly that night, and as they skittered and swept through the skeletal canopy, they sensed the fear seeping from every pore of the rider and his mount and knew that neither were the kind who belonged in the night.

The stallion's ears were turned back, his nostrils flared, his red eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The rider clutched the reins one-handed in a white-knuckled grip; had he not strapped himself into the saddle, the horse's panicked gait would have thrown him long ago. His other arm was wrapped around the large bundle in his lap. It was impossible to tell, as they charged through the night, quite what it was that he grasped so tightly. Although the size of a human child, it was swathed in so many blankets that it had no defined shape, and what living creature would remain so still and quiet while carried like luggage on the back of a terrified horse?

In his hand, the rider clutched a small sphere of crystal. It shone with a gentle cyan light, not quite bright enough to see by – if not for the full moon and the horse's instincts, the uneven trail would have bested them long ago – yet it was sufficient to lend an ethereal touch to the monochrome nightscape.

"Please," the rider begged of the crystal, and his words were lost in the thundering of his mount's hooves. "Please be in range, please, please, _please_ -"

It was on the fiftieth or sixtieth repetition that his prayer was answered, and a gruff voice echoed out of nowhere into the night. _"I've told you once, and I'll tell you again,"_ it growled, and if the words were heavy and slurred from the effects of alcohol then the rider barely noticed, for it was enough of a miracle that anyone had answered at all at this time of night. _"We are not, and have never been, a guild that-"_

"Master Makarov, please, I need your help!" the rider interrupted, and that desperate shout was enough to cut through the drunken tirade; perhaps even enough to ensure that the response was a little sharper, and a little soberer, than before.

" _You're not the Magic Council. How did you get this lacrima-?"_

"Please, I need your help; please! We're approaching Magnolia- the East Bridge- bring all the strong mages you have- please- please! He's-!"

The crystal shattered in his hand.

"NO!" screamed the rider, pawing at thin air as the transparent shards scattered in the wake of the horse's charge. He glanced over his shoulder with mad eyes, and he might have leapt after the broken crystal had a groan from the bundle he carried not snagged his attention.

"Oh, no, no," he wailed. His voice cracked with desperation; the terrified tears traced rivulets horizontally along his cheeks before the slipstream whipped them away. "Don't wake up! Please, please, please, _don't wake up!"_

The bundle gave another wordless groan.

"NO!" the rider screamed again. Perhaps it occurred to him then that shouting would only aggravate the situation, for his voice became a frantic, feverish mutter. "The drugs, the drugs-"

With the hand not clenched around the reins, he rummaged inside the saddlebag, seeking the syringe through touch alone. He wasn't going to be quick enough. The unnatural light, far too bright, far too _clean,_ to belong in the night of black and silver, was already pouring out of the vivid white cracks which crept across the pouch as if it were made of glass rather than leather. Driven by an instinctive fear, he whipped his hand clear as the saddlebag shattered as cleanly as the lacrima. Cubes of leather joined the broken crystal and the tears and the hurricane of dust left in the horse's wake.

The relief of his narrow escape lasted less than a tenth of a second, because his last hope lay in pieces on the road behind him and that meant he would soon be going the same way. "No," he begged. "No, please, stop this, please…"

It did not stop. Even as the dim orange glow of the city bloomed at the end of the road, white cracks were spreading across the rest of the saddle, shredding the hardened leather like paper and creeping along the horse's bridle. The stallion caught sight of the unearthly light at last and whickered its panic. The experienced part of the rider's brain knew he should have tried to calm the beast, but he could not, because those silk-thin fractures were crawling up his arm too and his heart had forgotten how to beat-

Then the bridle broke into a thousand pieces and his left arm did the same, or so it felt. The thin bloody lines crisscrossing his forearm cut down through muscle and bone; only the tattered shreds of his skin held the fragments of the arm in place. He screamed, and so did his mount. His uninjured hand grasped at its mane. That instinct was the only thing that saved him as the horse bucked furiously; snapping teeth and heaving sides and a grating, high-pitched shriek of terror indistinguishable from his own.

Blind from the pain, screaming, panting, he drove his heels over and over again into the horse's flanks as if that could somehow spur it on faster than the terror that gripped them both. He could taste blood in his mouth and he knew it was his own, but he could also hear the river now, and the city that shone just beyond it. He was not a religious man, but then and there he screamed the names of every god of folklore, benevolent or otherwise, and promised them anything to let him reach the city alive- to let there be someone waiting for him-

Hooves clattered against the wood of the bridge. The stallion bucked again and he no longer had the strength to hold on. Both he and his cargo were flung forwards as the horse veered off into the unknown. The rider hit the ground face-first; the shadow-drenched wood merged with the darkness creeping over his vision and he lay there and wondered how long it would take to die.

And then a new sensation cut like a lightning flash through his fading consciousness: an alien voice, scoffing and scornful and undeniably _real_ , louder even than the death throes of his terrified heart.

"This is why we were called out here in the middle of the night? A man who can't even control his horse as he flees from, oh, a non-existent army? Pathetic."

"Ivan, be quiet," snapped another voice, and the rider felt that lighting-burst again at the sound of it. Those were the same gruff tones he had heard echoing from the crystal; the man – or perhaps the deity – he had referred to as Master Makarov. With a surge of willpower, he tried to claw his way back to their wakeful world; to raise his dizzy head from the ground.

Makarov continued, "He's injured. Do what you can to stop the bleeding, and call the hospital at once. We need paramedics."

Footsteps reverberated through the bridge as shadowy figures hastened to carry out his orders. Still, the first speaker protested, "He should have contacted the hospital, then, not a mage guild. If he was being chased by an army of demons or something, then sure, whatever, but it's not our job to call ambulances for strangers! He interrupted our party for _nothing_."

"I wish it were nothing, Ivan," came the grim response. "But you are right on one count: he isn't being chased by an army of anything. So how did he get those wounds?"

Ivan had no answer to that. But the fallen rider did, and he tried to give it, forcing himself upwards in defiance of the sharp hiss from the stranger who was trying to assess the state of his arm. "Please, help…" he whispered. "Please- he- he's dangerous-"

"This thing?" Ivan inquired, gesturing to the large, blanket-wrapped bundle that lay unmoving in the centre of the bridge. "Is it a person? Why's he wrapped up like that?"

"Don't- he's-"

He paid the warning no heed, sauntering over and tugging the cloth aside. "What?" he demanded. "It's just a kid! What are you so-?"

 _"IVAN, GET BACK!"_

Ivan obeyed that thunderous roar on instinct, staggering backwards, tripping, and landing flat on his backside. At the same time, a tremendous pulse of magic sent a shockwave through the air as Guild Master Makarov raised both his hands and commanded, "Three Pillar Gods!" Three obelisks of stone rose out of the bridge around the bundle, forming the foundations of a golden sphere, which sealed the prone child within.

From the ground, Ivan shot him a look of utter disbelief. "Really? You're using your strongest defensive magic to deal with one kid?"

That was when the child exploded. Blinding white light filled the sphere in a release of energy so strong that, even contained by Makarov's barrier, the tremors it sent through the earth almost tore the bridge free of the riverbank. And, before their incredulous eyes, cracks began to appear in that supposedly impenetrable barrier – a perfect grid of white lines stretching across its surface.

"That's… impossible…" Ivan breathed.

And then it was over. The destructive light vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The cracks faded, leaving the sphere intact. Within, they glimpsed a child standing upright, only for him to immediately sway and fall unresisting to the ground. He did not move again. Breathing heavily, Makarov let his hands fall to his sides, though he did not allow the magical sphere to disappear.

Ivan was the first to break the silence, with a demand that contained a lot less arrogance than before, and a whole new level of fear. "What the hell was that?"

But Makarov did not answer him, nor the repeated queries from the other guild mages present. The injured rider had his full attention. "I'm sorry, but we can't take you to a hospital yet," he said. "I have to stay here to maintain the barrier, so I need you to tell me everything you know before you go anywhere. Can you do that?"

Supported in a sitting position by one of the guild mages, the rider gave a single nod. Anything more than that would have triggered another wave of dizziness that he did not have the strength to fight.

"Okay," Makarov continued. "Who's the kid?"

The rider wet his lips, tasted blood there, and shuddered. "He's my nephew," he murmured. "His name is Gildarts Clive."

* * *

"Master."

Either Makarov did not hear the speaker as he paced back and forth along the deck, or he did not realize that the word was meant for him. It had taken a long time for his subconscious mind to begin associating the phrase _Guild Master_ with himself – far longer than he cared to admit – and he still caught himself relapsing on occasion; periods which always went hand in hand with a deep and melancholy helplessness. This was one of those times. His hands were clasped behind his back and his thoughts were far away, but even then, his gaze jumped to the three small pillars at the boat's stern every time he reversed direction – a nervous check that his barrier remained intact.

"Master."

All the pacing in the world could not placate the anxiety gnawing away at him, however; no more than it could the guilt or the frustration or the dread. This was exactly why he had told Precht he wasn't ready. It wasn't the first time during his tenure that he had wished the Second Master were still here, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but he had never before been so aware of his own inadequacies. His mentor would have known what to do, Makarov was sure of it. Yet wisdom, so it seemed, was not something spontaneously gained upon taking on the mantle of Guild Master.

He was here on this boat not because it was the right thing to do – if anything, he knew it was the _wrong_ thing to do, and in the long run, it would only make things worse. Rather, he was here because it was the _only_ thing he could do.

"Master!"

The third shout managed to jerk him out of his reverie. "What?" he snapped, a little brusquely, but all his responses since the early hour of that morning had been brusque, and the guild mage who had spoken paid it no mind. Instead, she just pointed towards the horizon, where a distinct silhouette had begun to take form against the afternoon sun. Though it was still a long way off, that enormous tree was unmistakeable.

Tenrou Island. A holy ground, a haven; soon to be a prison.

An echo of his own desperate shout from the night before came back to him: _I don't know! But he's a danger to others and to himself, and I can't keep him contained here forever!_

Makarov ran a hand through his greying hair as his attention returned to the three pillars jutting awkwardly out of the rear deck. Barring the time he had had to dispel it so that they could move the boy onto the boat, he had been maintaining that magical barrier for over twelve hours, and he was reaching the limit of his endurance. Still, he did not dare to let it fall. The child's rampant magic might be dormant right now, but it would only need an instant of freedom to make matchsticks of the boat and leave them all stranded in the middle of the ocean.

The boy was asleep. They had sedated him before moving him, using the most powerful drugs Makarov could convince the doctors to give them. They had had no choice. That was the only way the boy's uncle, who had introduced himself as Robin, had been able to transport the boy in the first place – and he was growing resistant to the drugs at an alarming rate. The uncontrolled magic within his body was learning to disassemble their active ingredients as soon as they entered his bloodstream. He had woken twice since the ship had left the harbour, and both those conscious periods had been punctuated by screams of pain and a raging storm of white as his power tried to break down the Guild Master's barrier.

Makarov could still hear those awful screams echoing in his ears as he closed his eyes and shuddered. "What else can I do?" he muttered to the ghosts in his mind. "I don't _know_ how to help him!"

Several of the guild mages within hearing distance cast him worried glances, but none of them spoke. They were all secretly grateful that this burden fell to their Master and not to themselves. Even Ivan was quiet, sitting on the steps leading up to the forecastle deck and watching his father pace without comment. Everyone on board the ship had been present at the encounter in the early hours of the morning. They all understood the very real danger of their situation.

The only person not present was the boy's Uncle Robin, and that was only because, once they had seen the state he was in, the doctors would not allow him to leave the hospital. His arm was fractured in so many places that they weren't sure if it would ever fully heal, even with magical assistance. Nevertheless, he would have fought his way onto the boat with the guild mages if the doctors hadn't anaesthetized him. He had ridden through the night to reach Magnolia, risking his life for the sake of the young boy in his arms. He would do more, if he could.

 _I'm the only family he has left,_ Robin had said. _I'd happily take him in, but… but I can't help him!_

"And you think I can?" Makarov swore out loud. He wanted to help the boy. He wanted it more than he thought he had ever wanted anything in his life.

But determination did not equate to capability or success. Sometimes it did not equate to even a single bright idea.

And while he tried and failed to think – while he tried and failed to be a mature, responsible, _adequate_ Guild Master – the conversation from that morning replayed over and over in his head.

 _"Have you contacted the Bureau of Magical Development?" Makarov had asked the injured man. "They're supposedly experimenting with technology that can reduce a person's magic power, which might stop it from going out of control-"_

 _But the bleak look on Robin's face had instantly torn that idea to shreds. "His parents took him there yesterday. They wouldn't take him in. They said he was a danger to their facility and their staff."_

 _And as Makarov's hope had died, Robin only added, in a quavering voice, "That was their last chance. They took him back home, but their neighbours turned them away. They were driven out of the village. His parents – my sister, her husband – showed up on my doorstep with him just a few hours ago. I let them stay, but then- but then- his magic went out of control again-"_

 _"And the boy's parents?" Makarov had asked, and the tears welling up in the injured man's eyes as he slowly shook his head had been all the answer he needed._

 _"Rune Knights came when the house collapsed. They gave me that lacrima… showed me how to use it to contact the mage guilds… told me that the Master of Fairy Tail might be able to help…"_

And perhaps he would have been able to, if Precht had still been in charge, because Precht _always_ knew what was wrong and what to do about it and Makarov knew nothing at all.

He hated it. His own ignorance; his own uncertainty. He did not know how to make things better, and he _hated_ himself for it.

 _"It's that kid's inability to control his power that's causing the problem, right?" Ivan had interrupted the discussion to cast an accusatory glance at his father. "Why not just teach him to control it? You taught me magic, not to mention all the other people in the guild you've mentored."_

 _"How do you expect me to do that? The moment I release the barrier, his magic will rage out of control again. It'll destroy everything it touches – the environment, any restraints we try to place on him, even the person trying to teach him. If he had only come to me sooner…"_

 _"It's never been this bad before," Robin had supplied, tears in his eyes once again. "Sometimes he would pick something up and it would crack or break. But it was nothing. It was a family joke. We laughed about it. When my sister stopped inviting me over to their house, and declined all opportunities to meet up with the rest of the family, I just assumed they were busy teaching him; that's what she told me! I heard the rumours from their village, of course, but I thought nothing of them – if his condition was getting worse, surely his mother would have said something to me; would have got help-?_

 _"But… I should have known better. They lived in a secluded little village, isolated and distrustful of mages. No one in our family has ever been able to use magic. I don't think anyone in their village could, either. No one knew what to do. No one understood the danger…" His tortured gaze turned towards the boy's unconscious form, sealed within a prison of light. "Now it's too late, and it's all our fault…"_

 _"No one is to blame for this tragedy," the Guild Master had said, because it was the right thing to say, even if it was the last thing he could believe then and there. "Perhaps… perhaps there might be a way we can still teach him to control his power. If I get in touch with the old gang… the Bureau… the Council… even Warrod might help… we might be able to come up with some method of suppressing his magic while he learns to control it."_

 _And he immediately shook his head at the hopelessness of his own suggestion. "But just contacting everyone will take days, maybe weeks! And time is the one thing we do not have!"_

In the end, it had been Ivan who came up with the plan. It had to have been him. Makarov would never have consciously entertained such an idea – in fact, he had argued against it for nearly an hour, despite knowing full well the impossibility of coming up with a better suggestion.

They could not go back now. His barrier around the boy would last until they reached the island, but it would not survive the trip back to the mainland. Makarov's guilt was like a bar of iron lodged through his heart, and no amount of telling himself that there was no other option could lessen its weight as the enormous silhouette of the Great Tenrou Tree drew closer and closer.

"Master!" The same mage from before called out to him. "Is there a place on the island to moor a boat of this size?"

With an effort, Makarov broke out of the useless cycle of memories and considered the question. "There's a cove on the eastern side where the water is deep enough for us to get almost the entire way in to the shore."

As she scurried off to inform the helmsman, Ivan spoke up from the sidelines. "I still don't know why you're going to all this trouble. I mean, taking in every stray dog that shows up on our guild's doorstep is one thing, but doing all this for the sake of one boy none of us even know? It's ludicrous."

Makarov gave his head a slow, ponderous shake. "That kid is one of us now. I had to stamp him with the guild mark in order to get him through the barrier around the island. Whether or not he will choose to keep it once all this is over is another matter entirely. I won't be surprised if he never forgives us after what I am about to do."

Ivan gave a disapproving grunt, but did not push the matter further. Motion from inside the pillars of light caught his attention, and he remarked, "Oh, looks like our resident time-bomb has woken up."

Makarov opened his mouth, probably to reprimand him for referring to the boy like that, but the deadly white fractures wasted no time in making their newest assault upon his barrier. He gasped for breath at the sudden magical exertion and would have fallen if his son hadn't sprung up to catch him.

"Don't scare me like that when you're the only thing standing between us and a watery grave," Ivan scowled, glancing away.

Inside the sphere the hostile light receded, but the eerily regular grid upon its surface remained. Through the distorted shimmer, they could see the boy wide awake and on his feet, pressing his palms against the inside of his prison as if to check that it was real. With Ivan's help, Makarov limped towards him.

As soon as the boy noticed their approach, he backed away, pressing himself up against the far side of the sphere.

"Gildarts, right?" the Guild Master asked as gently as he could, pretending not to notice the boy's fear, or how he was its sole cause.

The boy kept staring at him. "Who- who are you?"

"My name is Makarov. I'm the Master of the mage guild Fairy Tail. Your uncle asked me to help you-"

His eyes opened even wider at this. "Uncle Robin! Is he alright? Where is he? Is he- is he-?"

"He's… He's in hospital, but his condition is stable."

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered, trying to back away further and not seeming to notice the glowing wall obstructing his retreat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I don't want to hurt anyone! I don't- I'm sorry-!"

"It's alright." Makarov tried to reassure him automatically, but he could hardly blame the boy for not believing him when he couldn't even believe himself. He maintained eye contact, silently willing the boy to trust him; trying to make himself seem as unthreatening as possible. "I'm going to talk to some friends of mine, and we're going to figure out a way to help you, I promise."

Ivan murmured to him that they had made land. Half the mages on board were busy lowering the gangplank and unloading the supplies they had brought with them; the other half were frozen to the spot, watching the exchange between their Master and the terrified boy.

"This is a magical island," Makarov continued. "You'll be safe here. There's no one else around, so you don't need to worry about your magic hurting anyone or destroying anything. I need you to stay here for a few days while we look for a way to help you, okay?"

"I…" The boy gave a wild shake of his head. "I don't want to be alone!"

"Gildarts-"

"No, please! Don't make me stay here on my own! I'm sorry- I'm sorry-!"

Makarov overrode the boy's desperate apologies with one of his own. "I'm sorry, but this…"

But he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Had he really been about to say that this was for the boy's own good? What good could possibly come of abandoning a child on an uninhabited island? No matter how much he told himself that it was just to buy them time, so that they could work out a way of helping him before he hurt anyone else, they were really only doing it to protect themselves, weren't they? If they couldn't find a solution to his rampaging magic, would they ever return to the island, or would they just leave him there until he died and was no longer their problem?

He looked at the helpless, terrified boy and felt his heart break all over again. _I have no right to be a Guild Master,_ he thought. _No right at all._

"This is the only option available to us," he finished. "We need to keep you away from other people. You understand that, don't you? It will only be for a few days. I'll come back for you as soon as I can."

Tears welled up in the child's eyes. "I don't want to be alone… I'm scared…"

Makarov glanced over his shoulder, where the other members of his guild had assembled. They were ready. Once he removed his defensive barrier, they would have seconds at best to get the boy off the boat before his magic shattered it. One mage was going to use her wind magic to lift the boy off the deck and set him down hopefully unharmed upon the shore. The ship was ready to sail away from the makeshift dock the instant their unstable cargo was clear. Makarov gave a slight nod, and they raced for their positions as he turned his attention back to the boy.

"You'll be alright, I promise," he said, and it was the greatest lie the Third Master had ever told. "The island will keep you safe. First Master, please watch over him…"

And before he could change his mind he stepped back, brought his hands together, dispelled the barrier around the boy, and roared, "NOW!"

* * *

Contrary to what Makarov believed, Tenrou Island was not entirely uninhabited by humankind.

The single exception to that rule was a strange young man who sat in a clearing in the overgrown forest. He leaned against a withered grey tree, leafless even though summer was in its prime. The mossy carpet below him was a shrivelled, lifeless yellow. All around him lay the corpses of animals: birds that had fallen dead from the sky in mid-flight; deer, collapsing out of nowhere as they guided their young through the forest; wolves struck down as they pursued their quarry. Neither predator nor prey had been spared. In fact, at first glance, the man might have been dead himself – his eyes were closed and he did not stir; not even, so it seemed, to breathe.

But despite what was written in the history books, this man was not dead, and his eyes slowly opened to stare at the cloudless sky.

"The barrier is down," he murmured to himself. "Is this your doing, Mavis? Or… are there others upon the island?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** So, in my quest to discover how odd my writing prompts can get before people stop clicking on my stories, here's one about Zeref and kid Gildarts. Well, at least I'm unpredictable. Ever since the Tenrou Island arc I've felt that it would be interesting to write something with Gildarts and Zeref, two characters who are unintentionally destructive to their environments and potentially very dangerous to those around them, and eventually it became this prequel-ish story. __As far as I'm aware, canon never provides a backstory for Gildarts, so here's my take on it._ _I figured I might as well upload it in case someone out there finds it interesting!_

 _I do assume that anyone reading this has finished the manga. There *might* be some spoilers for anyone who only watches the anime (as of the time of writing), but I think they'll be unnoticeably minor. It's more that a handful of things might pass you by once Zeref starts narrating than that anything important will be spoiled from the final arc. I think._

 _This story will update on Sundays, life permitting. I've been pretty good at keeping to a schedule so far, but no story has ever caused me as much grief as this one, so we'll see how that goes. This isn't on the same scale as my previous stories, in terms of scope or length, and it will run for about two months._

 _Okay, I think that's all the orders of business. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you again next chapter! ~CS_


	2. An Accidental Empathy

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Two – An Accidental Empathy**

What Tenrou Island lacked in size it more than made up for with disorder.

Its very existence defied logic. Not only did it have its own climate, but that climate was not even consistent across the entire island. It contained multiple ecosystems and environments that had perhaps once been distinct, but had since blurred together into some incomprehensible cacophony of life which refused classification. The forest which covered most of the island's surface was interspersed with golden meadows and patches of deep jungle; its coastline was a disjointed chain of beautiful sandy beaches, sheer cliffs, and even a saltmarsh or two – as if the small island had been assembled out of the fragments left over from the divine creation of the continents. Above it all rose the great Tenrou Tree, uniting the chaos beneath its golden-green canopy.

The correct answer to "what could possibly live in such a mishmash of habitats?" was "anything and everything". The fauna and flora obeyed the same rules as the environment – that was to say, no rules at all. Here, tropical birds lived side by side with seagulls, eagles and pigeons. Enormous reptilian creatures, closer to dinosaurs than modern lizards, competed with prowling wolves and ferocious big cats for their prey. Beneath the earth, something gigantic had carved out a whole world of tunnels for itself, where an entirely separate food chain existed amongst the creatures who would live and die without ever seeing sunlight. There were great beasts unheard of in the natural histories expounded upon the continent. There were monsters which did not seem to belong to a species at all, but were unique lifeforms, altered beyond recognition by the magic permeating the island.

There had even been humans here, once: an entirely self-sufficient village, complete with its own mage guild. It had not been the bizarre environment that had driven them from this place in the end, but other humans – as ever it was. Now, the black-haired young man who walked unerringly across the chaotic landscape was the only one left.

Ostensibly, the island belonged to the mage guild Fairy Tail. Two magical barriers made it so – one which hid the island from those who did not already know where to find it, and a second, far less subtle, which acted as a force field preventing anyone without the Fairy Tail mark from setting foot upon its shores. But that guild's mages visited only rarely, and it was a mark of the brevity of their visits that not once during the countless years this man had made their island his home had anyone noticed his presence there. He may have been a guest upon the island, granted permission to stay by the one who watched over it, but there was no one alive who knew it like he did. To all extents and purposes, Tenrou Island was his own private haven.

And that was how he liked it. No – that was how he _needed_ it. The arrival of strangers onto the island that was his sanctuary was therefore one of the few things that could stir him into action, so that he could ascertain their purpose from afar and ensure that they departed none the wiser to the Black Mage Zeref's presence there.

With that in mind, he was presently making his way towards the clifftop that would give him the best view of the eastern ocean. He moved slowly not because he was lost. To explorers and Fairy Tail mages alike, the terrain may have been impenetrable, but this was his home and he knew each and every one of its quirks. No, he chose each step with care so that he might avoid crushing beneath his feet any of the myriad of beetles with whom he shared the land. The death he left behind him here was never intentional.

At the top of the cliff, he stood with his bare toes curled around the edge of the precipice, breathing deeply of the salty air that seemed unable to penetrate the forest where he spent most of his time.

"The barrier is up again," he noted out loud, of the shimmering dome that enclosed the island. He could not see it with his eyes, but he could sense its presence, just as the warmth upon his back confirmed the existence of the sun in the sky behind him. "Was I mistaken?"

The presence of odd objects in the cove below suggested otherwise. Two crates, and an unidentifiable blurred heap, sat upon the rockpool-covered plateau – manmade objects which had not been there yesterday. Still, he could not see any motion within the cove, let alone any living human beings. Perhaps they had dropped off the cargo and left straight away.

The world was rarely that kind to him, though, so he picked out the trail that led down to the cove and went to investigate for himself.

He had barely taken three paces when the sound of an explosion stopped him in his tracks. A flock of long-tailed crimson birds, startled into the sky by the disturbance, screeched their alarm for all the world to hear. His eyes narrowed slightly. It wouldn't be the first time that the guild had come here for some form of training exercise – he supposed he would do the same, if given access to a sanctuary which bestowed such powerful blessings upon its sons and daughters – but…

"Invaders?" he asked of the trees around him. "Would you have me defend your island, then, Mavis? Fight for the sake of keeping this a peaceful place?"

Another explosion provided the only answer. This time it was close enough that he first detected it not with his eyes or ears, but with the senses that had assured him of the absence and then presence of the invisible barrier; it flashed across his body as a pulse of roiling, frothy magic that seemed somehow… _off_. As he watched the accompanying burst of earth and leaves rise into the air, falter, and rain back down again, a frown creased his youthful face. "Then again, I don't sense hostile intent."

It was perhaps an odd thing to hear from a man who was presently watching a forty-foot fir tree break into tiny cubes of green and brown, but he was never wrong about these things. Pausing, he weighed up the potential intrigue of investigating the destruction of the local flora against his desire not to get involved in anything concerning other human beings.

Common sense won out. He turned on his heel and headed back towards his grove of solitude.

Before he had taken more than a step, however, another explosion thundered through the air. This one was accompanied by an earthquake that shook the entire island. Magic so devastating, wrought without a trace of malice? That was odd. _Very_ odd. It had been so long since anything interesting had happened to him that the temptation to investigate was scarily strong.

Curious despite himself, he paused, and that was his mistake.

One hesitant moment was all it took for something black and orange to shoot out of the undergrowth and affix itself to his leg.

Utterly bemused, he gazed down at the thing clinging to him as if he couldn't quite comprehend its existence. The thing in question was a child – a boy, probably, though he couldn't see much of him beyond the mop of dirty ginger hair and the black rags covering his body. The boy clutched at him, wailing his heart out.

Zeref blinked at him. "You're not what I was expecting to see."

The boy kept crying into his robes. His grip did not loosen. It wasn't the normal reaction people had upon meeting the infamous Black Mage, that was for sure.

Hopefully, Zeref ventured, "Maybe you could let go of me now."

The boy gave no sign that he had heard.

"Uh… there, there," he tried, clumsily patting the boy's head.

That seemed to get a response. Slowly, the strange boy's shaking eased; his wailing petered out into the occasional sniff. He looked up at the man he was clinging to with enormous, round, watery eyes.

"What are you doing here, kid?" Zeref asked. "Are you on your own? Are there any adults with you?"

The boy shook his head as his comically wide eyes began to fill with tears once again. "They left me here!" he wailed. "They threw me off the boat and sailed away! I don't wanna be on my own!"

With a sigh, Zeref rested his hand atop that stark mop of hair once again. If there weren't any adults around who would know him for who he was, he had no need to worry. His mistake in allowing himself to be seen would have no serious consequences. He could return to his life of isolation. "You'll be alright here. This is a good island. It will look after you."

Unfortunately, his attempt to sidle away was foiled by the boy's grip of iron. "Don't go! Don't leave me on my own! Please!"

"It's far better for you to be on your own than to be with me, kid."

"But _why?_ "

"Because it would only end badly. I can promise you that."

The boy gazed up at him with imploring eyes, and it was suddenly and incomprehensibly difficult to feel anything other than guilt. He saw the tremulous set of the boy's mouth, the desperation in his grip, and the fear in his shaking shoulders. And he noticed what few others in the world would have done: a golden aura, the kind which could not be seen with the eye alone, was wrapped around the boy's vulnerable form. His attention was drawn towards the upper left of the boy's chest, where the magic swirled most strongly. He had no doubt that if he looked beneath that ragged t-shirt, he would find a Fairy Tail mark in that exact spot.

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and he said, "You know full well that I don't help people, Mavis."

Not even innocent little children who had been left all alone on an unfamiliar island.

Rather, as the two strangers looked at each other, it was not compassion but anger that twisted the Black Mage's expression. Deadly red light sparked within the jet-black orbs of his eyes. "Shut up," he snarled.

The boy flinched back from him, stammering, "I didn't- I didn't say anything…"

"I wasn't talking to you."

"But… There isn't anyone else here…"

"Look, kid," Zeref snapped, and he was rewarded with the sight of the child cowering away from him. Reason might not have been able to break the boy's tenacious grip, but it seemed fear could, and that was a weapon he knew how to use. If it would stop him from having to interact with any other human beings – something that _never_ ended well – he was more than happy to employ it, even against a child. "You _cannot_ stay with me. I can't make you leave the island when we're both stuck here with no boats, but this place is plenty big enough for both of us to live separately. Don't come looking for me. I don't want to hurt you, but I also don't want anything to do with you. Is that understood?"

"But…"

Ignoring the weak protest, he turned on his heel and made to stride off into the forest. He barely managed two paces before the child shook himself free of fear's paralysis, bounded forwards, seized his wrist with both hands, and dug his heels into the ground. "Please don't go!"

Zeref's eyes narrowed, and there were any number of less gentle methods he might have employed to force the boy away from him, but he never got the chance. Magic streaked again across his senses; wild, jagged, _painful,_ like the sting of chemical fumes in his eyes and throat. A grid of white lines was spreading up his bare arm. He jerked his hand out of the boy's grip with a hiss, rubbing at the lines of magic with the heel of his other hand until they faded from his skin.

"That's not a good way of trying to get someone to do what you want, kid," he warned him.

For the first time, though, the boy's attention was not upon him. He was staggering backwards across the dry earth, staring at his hands in horror. "It's happening again," he breathed. "No, no, no, please don't, _please-!_ "

"Kid…?"

His voice rose to a dreadful crescendo. "Stop it! I don't wanna kill anyone else!"

He was not looking at Zeref as he spoke. He was not, in fact, speaking to the man he'd met at all.

None of that changed the fact that Zeref went as still as if those words had stopped time: breath locked half-formed within frozen lungs; his eyes even wider than the boy's he had found so amusing. Somewhere out there the world had flipped on its axis, and at the centre of it all was this boy who had appeared from nowhere – this boy he wanted nothing to do with, yet who had screamed the same words carved by trial and tragedy into the Black Mage's own heart-

Everything around them shattered. White light burst from the boy's body, ripping up the trees, the undergrowth, and even the ground beneath their feet. It tried to tear apart Zeref too, and when it could not, it hurt all the more for failing: immense forces slashed through him from the inside out; pressure unable to cut itself free from a body which would not break. The raging power made short work of the dense soil until it reached the roof of the tunnel below, and then they were both falling, surrounded by perfect cubes of earth.

Zeref hit the ground and lay there on his back in the darkness, breathing heavily. Several metres above him, the uneven sky-blue circle through which they had fallen allowed a beam of sunlight into the oversized warren. All around him, the rubble was settling into a stable position. The bitter sting of improperly formed magic vanished from his senses as suddenly as it had appeared.

"I'd forgotten how much that hurts," he grimaced, pushing himself into a sitting position. Ghostly waves of pain swirled around him in confused eddies as his body struggled to process the fact that it was still in perfect working order.

Sharp eyes picked out the boy's shadowy form, battered and bruised from the fall but somehow still staggering across the rubble, frantically swinging his head left and right. "Hey… are you still there?" he called, and his voice trembled, as if it were a question he did not fully dare to ask. "Please… please don't be dead…"

"Over here, kid."

He spoke on impulse, without conscious intent, and the boy froze at once. Tears of relief welled up in those impossibly wide eyes. The boy opened his mouth but there were no words to sum up how he felt in that moment, so instead he just dashed over and grabbed hold of his arm once more. "I'm so glad you're alive," he said, honestly, earnestly; as if he didn't know how _not_ to be those things. "I thought… I thought… I might have… you too…"

He was shaking now. "I don't ever want to hurt anyone, it just… I can't make it stop. Everyone around me gets hurt and it's all my fault. That's why they abandoned me here, because I… because I just bring pain to everyone. Uncle Robin is in hospital because of me. And daddy… and mummy… it's my fault that they… that they…"

It was at that moment that Zeref drew him close and held him tightly. And the boy was crying his eyes out once again, and all the while the Black Mage held him protectively, kindly; an accidental empathy upon that lost and lonely island.

"I'm still not going to help him, Mavis," Zeref whispered, but it was really just a gesture by this point, because it looked for all the world like he was never ever going to let that boy go.

* * *

There was no way of knowing how long they remained in the collapsed tunnel. The boy's crying had slowly ceased, and his ragged breathing grew calmer, and he felt enough at ease to rest his forehead upon this stranger's shoulder. "Maybe you're right," he murmured. "Maybe I should stay on my own. You're a nice person and I don't want to hurt you."

Zeref gave a sigh. "Look at me, kid." As the boy raised his tear-stained face, he asked, "Do I look hurt to you?"

An amusing expression of puzzlement lit up the boy's red-tinted eyes as he noticed perhaps for the first time that the other wasn't merely alive – he was completely unharmed. Like the poor trees in the forest, or the very earth itself, his body should have been torn apart by that rampaging power, but there was not a single mark upon him to suggest that anything out of the ordinary had happened. If any damage had been done, it had been undone just as quickly, and pain always passed when there was no physical justification for its stay.

"No…" said the boy, curiously.

"You're not going to hurt me." A small smile touched Zeref's lips, and he added, "Rather, it is the height of arrogance to think that you could ever harm me with such crude, unformed magic."

"But…" The boy floundered in his anxiousness. "But if you did die, because of me, then… then I… I don't think I'd…"

"I won't die on you, kid. That is very much the one thing that I am not going to do. If you want to worry about someone's safety, worry about your own. Mavis can't protect you forever."

"I… don't really understand…"

"Let's hope things can stay that way."

"So…" They looked at each other, the solemn mage with his unblinking jet-black gaze, and the boy who was still a little afraid of him, but would not let go of him for anything. "Does that mean… that I can stay with you?"

"No. It's no better an idea now than it was ten minutes ago. But…" Zeref sighed again. He felt as though he hadn't stopped doing that since the boy had crossed his path. "I suppose you can come with me until we're out of the tunnels. You'll never find your way back to the surface on your own."

"I can come with you? You really mean that?"

"Yes."

"You promise you won't leave me?"

"I just said I wouldn't, didn't I?" Nudging the boy away from him, he climbed to his feet, stretched, and glanced wistfully up at the hole through which they had entered the enormous warren. "Come on. If you get lost down here-"

He was stopped in his tracks as the boy barrelled into him again, apparently having decided to express his gratitude by grappling him happily. It was as if that single promise had flipped some switch from utterly heartbroken to completely cheerful – an instantaneous reaction that surely only children could survive. Zeref caught himself wondering just how many times this boy had been left alone by those who had pledged otherwise, and wrested his train of thought away from such perilous tracks with an effort.

"Fine, but you've got to stop touching me, kid."

The boy looked at him, noticed that he was not joking, and let go with a very serious nod. Still, he remained a little too close for comfort as they began walking through the tunnels. After years of having every creature on the island smart enough to listen to its instincts treat the ten-foot radius around him as if it were a minefield – and not without good cause – the boy trundling along at his side was a jarring anomaly, far too close and far too energetic. The nearby motion caught his attention again the moment he was able to shake it free. It was only with great effort of will that Zeref prevented himself from pushing the boy back to a respectable distance, and he added _personal space_ to the sizeable list of reasons why this partnership was a very bad idea, and would absolutely not be enduring beyond the tunnel's exit.

Away from the hole their fall had made in the ceiling, their eyes began to adjust properly to the darkness, and they made their way using the dim light shed by the occasional glowing protrusion of crystal. Even the boy had noticed the expertise with which his companion navigated the maze, asking of him, "Everything looks the same down here. How come you know where you're going?"

"Because I have a lot of free time and nothing to do with it. Exploring the island was the first thing I did."

"Exploring sounds fun," remarked the boy wistfully. "I don't get to explore much, because I'm not really allowed to leave the house. Sometimes I'm not even allowed to leave the basement. I did explore the whole basement, but there were only empty boxes and spiders down there. There weren't even any monsters. Did _you_ find monsters? Are there monsters living in the tunnels?"

At this thought, the boy seemed to press himself a little closer to his guide, peering excitedly around his legs and missing the annoyed look this garnered.

"I suppose you could call them that."

"Do they eat people?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. There aren't any people on the island for them to eat. They don't have a taste for human flesh."

"So… you're the only person here?"

"That's right."

The boy grabbed his wrist and looked up at him with wide eyes. "But what if the reason why there aren't any other people is because the monsters ate them all?"

"That's… that's really not the case," Zeref sighed. "Look, don't worry about the creatures on the island. They won't come anywhere near while I'm around."

"Okay," he shrugged, cheerful again. "I'll just stay with you, then."

The Black Mage blinked, and then raised his exasperated gaze towards the ceiling. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

The boy paid his rambling no heed. He just kept trotting along at his new friend's side, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "I'm Gildarts, by the way."

"I don't care. I'm not getting attached."

"Okay." Gildarts shrugged at this too. "Well, you can call me whatever you want. I don't really mind if you keep calling me 'kid'. Uncle Robin does that sometimes. He does actually have kids, though. You don't look that old."

"You'd be surprised."

"Really?" The boy gave him a curious look; he stared evenly back. "How old are you, then?"

"Guess."

"Okay! Are you, uh… sixteen?"

"Not even close."

"Aww," Gildarts groaned, pulling a face. "Then are you older, or younger?"

"Hmm. Difficult question. Older, I suppose, though you may have to be a little more precise about how you're defining age."

Unconvinced, the boy frowned at him. "It's not _that_ difficult. How about you tell me how old you are, and I'll tell you if you're definitely older or younger than sixteen?"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no idea how old I am."

Never mind his apparent immunity to the boy's lethal magic; never mind the fact that he was living in secret on a supposedly abandoned island – it was this revelation, rather than anything else, which provoked an expression of abject horror from the child. "How can you not know how old you are?"

"I haven't been counting. I know when I was born, though, so if you tell me what year it is, I'll work it out."

The boy's jaw almost hit the floor. "How can you not even know what _year_ it is?"

"Does it look like I have a calendar here? Besides, after a while, all the years start to blur together."

"My grandpa used to say that all the time."

"Getting warmer."

"You're really weird," the boy informed him. And then he clapped his hands together and stared at his companion with dawning realization. "Oh, I know! Are you from the future?"

"No, I'm not from the future. Good guess, though."

"Then, are you from the past?"

"Aren't we all from the past?"

The boy actually stopped in his tracks to mull this over. Then, as if in slow motion, his eyes widened and he gasped, " _Whoa._ I never realized that before. That is so cool! We're all time travellers!"

"Kid, if you don't keep up, I'm leaving you behind."

The sound of footsteps picked up again, and the black and orange sprite duly reappeared at his side… for all of about five seconds, before he veered away again, pouncing upon some new treasure with the hunting cry, "What's that?"

"What did I just say?" Zeref snapped, glaring at the cavern wall, where the boy was peering inquisitively at a spearhead of protruding crystal – the first of their natural torches that was low enough for him to reach. Apparently he had no setting between 'absolutely terrified' and 'fearlessly curious'.

"Oh, please don't touch that," Zeref sighed. "I'd really like to get out of here before-"

"Before what?" asked the boy brightly, touching the crystal. Which promptly shattered. Followed by the wall it had been attached to. Cracks spread across the ceiling, as it debated whether or not to join in the fun.

"Before your magic brings this entire place down on us."

"…Oops."

The fearsome Black Mage of legend had his head in his hands. "I can't believe I am doing this," he growled, adding another few feet of watertight logic to the Tenrou-Tree-high stack of evidence suggesting that staying with the boy was a bad idea. It was going to take one hell of a counterargument to change his mind this time.

And as the ceiling decided that it did want to drop on them after all, he seized the boy by the scruff of his neck and sprinted down the tunnel.

He couldn't remember the last time he had run away from something, let alone while dragging along a helpless child. This really was turning into a day of new experiences. Yet run he did, carrying the boy to safety and cursing Mavis under his breath the entire time, as a thunderous crash filled his ears and the world was collapsing around him and a searing pain ripped along the arm holding the boy-

They reached the cave exit he had been looking for and burst out into the open. The instant they were clear of the rockfall, he hurled his passenger to the ground and took several paces back, until the boy's rampaging magic lost interest in him and decided to carve the mossy earth into cubes instead. Panting, he leaned up against a tree, focussing his willpower to force the remnants of that wildfire magic out of his body. The white lines crisscrossing his arm faded once again, leaving not a single visible wound, but even he hadn't escaped entirely unscathed from prolonged contact with the boy's power, and echoes of that ripping agony reverberated over and over beneath the skin of his arm.

Hissing at the pain of it, and furious, he rounded on the boy – only to stop in his tracks. Gildarts was curled up in a ball on the broken ground, slowly rocking back and forth in time to the tears spilling from unfocussed eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-!" he murmured, over and over and over. "Please don't leave me… I didn't mean to… I'm sorry…"

And it didn't matter that the power Zeref saw flooding out of the boy was bright white, because in his mind's eye it was black – the same midnight-black which trailed its fingers across skeletal trees and bore the graveyard's shroud. That too had raged heedless to desire and unmoved by prayer. In that moment, the pain in his arm was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

The sharp reprimand died on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he waited in silence for the uncontrolled magic to die away, and then he walked over to the boy and reached out to help him up. The boy flinched away from his hand. Zeref noticed this, and his mouth tightened, but he let his hand fall back to his side without comment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, instead. "So stop crying, alright?"

The boy gazed up at him tearfully. "But I hurt you again, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't." It was an impulsive lie, and even as he said it, he had a feeling he would come to regret it. Of course the boy's magic was hurting him, and it had been countless years since he had felt physical pain like it. What it couldn't do was inflict permanent damage to him. As always, any harm done reversed itself in seconds. Yet he still experienced receiving those wounds, and he should have been angry about it, but a very long time ago he had opened his eyes to find everyone in the academy dead, and if there was anything – _anything_ – that could have lessened that horror…

"Come on," he told the boy, and he hadn't known before that moment that his own voice could sound so kind. As he spoke, he could hear the fatal cracks spreading through his mountain of evidence, destroyed by the boy's magic just as effortlessly as the tunnel had been, if for entirely different reasons. "We've still got a long way to go, and I'm not carrying you any further."

This time, when he offered out his hand, as steadily and carefully as he might have approached a skittish puppy, he was able to pull the boy to his feet atop the earth his magic had churned up. The boy asked, "Where… where are we going?"

"Somewhere away from that tunnel," Zeref answered, already striding away.

"Why?"

"Because there are a lot of monsters living in there who aren't going to be happy that you just collapsed their house."

"…Oh." And it seemed that the boy picked up the pace at that realization, jogging by his companion's side and throwing the occasional nervous glance over his shoulder.

Night was falling. The sky was free of clouds, and a beautiful twilight painted across the tops of the trees, as if they had been dipped in liquid gold. It wasn't getting cold – it very rarely did on this island – but in a place without any human settlements, once the fiery glory of the sunset faded into the evening's gloom, the night was truly dark.

Zeref was used to nightfall on Tenrou Island; he had been here long enough. Besides, one did not get a nickname like _Black Mage_ by being afraid of the dark – or, in fact, by being afraid of anything – and, as he had already promised, all the dangerous beasts on the island knew better than to come near him. But the boy at his side saw hostility in the lengthening shadows, if the way he shuffled closer and closer with every step was any indication.

It wouldn't be right to get rid of the boy now. Besides, judging by his tenacity, short of knocking him out and running for it he couldn't think of any means by which he'd be able to make a convincing getaway – and that made leaving feel less like common sense and more like outright betrayal. He might as well wait until the boy fell asleep. One evening surely couldn't make things worse.

So as they walked, he kept an eye out for a suitable location, and as soon as he found one, he called a halt to their travels. "Here will do."

"What's here?" inquired the boy, looking round the perfectly ordinary forest clearing with interest.

"A good place to spend the night."

"We're going to sleep in the forest?"

"Yes. It doesn't get cold here, and it hardly ever rains."

"Oh. I kinda figured you'd have a house, or something."

"If I had a house, do you really think I'd let you anywhere near it?"

"…Oh." This sounded even more downcast the second time round. "Guess not. I'd probably destroy it."

"There's no probably about it," Zeref confirmed, settling himself down with his back to a sturdy tree.

"Okay." Placing his hands on his hips, the boy surveyed the little clearing, as if looking for a good spot of his own. "Well, this might be fun too. It's like camping. Only without a tent. Or a campfire. Or… anything at all…"

His voice tailed off. His surveying of his surroundings became a little less regal and a little more anxious. He turned a full circle on the spot, and then another. Finally, with his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, he shambled over and sat down right next to Zeref.

Zeref stared at him. The boy stared back.

Zeref shuffled a couple of feet to the right. The boy shuffled with him.

Zeref glared at him. The boy gave him a sheepish smile and then rested his head upon his companion's shoulder, as if that settled the matter.

It didn't.

"What are you doing?" Zeref snapped.

"…You looked more comfortable than the ground."

"I can assure you, I am not."

That was far, _far_ too close, and not even the boy could fail to notice the icy undertone behind those words. He changed tack. "But it's dark, and I'm scared…"

"What is there to be afraid of?"

"Monsters!" he insisted, with eyes as wide as saucers.

"I told you, they won't come close if I'm here. And even if they did, your magic would turn them into little monster cubes before they could eat you."

This didn't seem to reassure him. "What if there are ghosts, though? Or demons? Or ghouls? Or something really scary that only comes out of the shadows at night?"

"Kid, the scariest thing on this island is me, and you don't seem to have a problem clinging to me."

"You're not scary. You're…" Here, the boy paused to poke his arm several times, as if abstract adjectives had failed him and he was genuinely considering resorting to tactile ones. "You're actually kind of nice."

"…You spent that long thinking about it, and that's the best you could come up with?" Zeref grumbled, sighing for the umpteenth time that afternoon. "If it's the dark that's bothering you, will you let go of me if we light a fire?"

"I… I guess…"

"Then go and gather some firewood."

The boy considered this, came to the conclusion that a short trip into the twilight forest on his own was a lot better than the alternative, and scurried away.

When he had disappeared from sight, Zeref drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, gazing pensively out through the trees. "What am I doing, Mavis?" he murmured. "You know I can't help him. You know what will happen if I try."

The shadows murmured something back, and he said, softly, "I can't deal with children. They're just too difficult to hate. The longer I stay with him, the worse it's going to get. He'll be fine here on his own-"

His head snapped up as the boy re-entered the clearing. "Did you get the firewood?" he demanded, a little harsher than he had intended for being startled, and he saw the boy shiver.

"Well…" As the boy shuffled forwards, it became clear that, rather than holding several broken branches, he was cradling a pile of wood to his chest. It might once have consisted of suitably flammable branches, but now that his magic had shredded them down to as small as they could go, even calling them twigs would have been generous. A stream of stubby little splinters spilled like sand grains from his clumsy grip; a trail of woodchips marked his route out of the forest.

"Yeah, there's not much I can do with that."

The remainder of the wood fell from the boy's grip as tears sprung once again from the endless wells of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he sniffed. "I tried, I really did, but I can't make it stop… Everything breaks when I touch it… I'm sorry…"

His plea rose to a scream as white light burst out from his body, trying to do to the entire clearing what it had already done to the sticks he had gathered. Zeref closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as the wild energy had another go at tearing him to pieces. Eventually it was forced to concede defeat, and the light faded, leaving them both half-blind in the dusk. The boy was on his knees, gasping for breath and crying freely and waiting for the repercussions.

Oh, Zeref was certainly angry enough for there to _be_ some – he would be until the pain faded completely from his body – but he buried that anger deep, sealed in the same lightless crevice in which he had concealed compassion and affection during the darkest of the years that had earned him his reputation. Instead of snapping at the boy, he simply observed, "This is going to keep happening all night, isn't it? Neither of us is going to get any sleep."

The boy drew himself more tightly into a ball, trembling. "It doesn't stop… I can only sleep when they put something in my arm…"

"Some kind of sedative?" Zeref shook his head in disgust; drugging the boy while his magic was going out of control would only make the problem ten times worse when he woke up. "Your magic wouldn't have reacted well to that."

"I didn't like it," the boy sniffed, hunching over further, as if he could make himself so small that he would vanish into nothing. "I kept having horrible dreams that I couldn't wake up from, and even when I did, my head hurt so much… but it was the only way to make it stop for a bit, so I didn't mind as long as it made things better for mummy and daddy and everyone else, but… I don't even have that any more, so I'm only going to keep making things difficult for you. I'll go… I'll go and find somewhere else to sleep tonight…"

Zeref looked up at the weeping boy, and it was then that an idea occurred to him.

"Oh, no, come on," he growled, out loud. "I just _told_ you I have to leave him on his own. I can't help him; you _know_ that!"

He wasn't going to get involved, and if he _had_ to get involved then he certainly wasn't going to get attached. He knew better than that.

But despite his common sense, he was inexplicably on his feet, beckoning to the boy. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

"Show- show me what?"

Instead of answering, he simply turned on his heel and strode away. After a moment spent weighing up his resolve to leave and not cause trouble against his fear of being left alone in the dark forest, the boy hurried after him.

Still annoyed with himself for giving in, Zeref did not speak during the entire journey – not to answer the boy's questions, which quickly lapsed into a worried silence, nor to reassure him. He made his way with impeccable precision through the ever-darkening night. The murky gloom wrapped around the tree roots, and would have caused the boy to trip several times were it not for the fact that all obstacles broke into pieces the moment they came into contact with him. By the time they emerged from a suspiciously jungle-like copse of trees and out into the open, night had well and truly fallen upon Tenrou Island.

They were standing atop a cliff on the northernmost side of the island. This close to the edge, the foliage had succumbed to the ocean winds, and the exposed slate-grey rock formed a natural road leading to a sheer drop and the sea below. Of far more interest than the scenery, however, was the sky.

Out of the jungle; out, even, from beneath the reach of the Tenrou Tree, the heavens were visible in all their majesty: thousands upon thousands of little lights crowded every inch of black space, twinkling warm yellow and brilliant white and bright-burning blue. The sea's calm surface gleamed like a perfect mirror, an ocean of stars above and below, holding them and all the world within its celestial embrace. The full splendour of the Milky Way shone down upon them, an arc of dust and shadow entwined with the most glorious sidereal light. The night that painted the sky and shimmered upon the sea was not dark at all.

Struck dumb by the wonder of it, the boy could do nothing but gape at the scene before him.

Zeref watched him for a moment before giving his head a quick shake. He wasn't here for stargazing; he had seen the stars a hundred thousand times. Of far more concern to him than the unchanging heavens were the tiny lines of light that were stealthily spreading out from the boy's feet and into the cliff face. He strode to the very edge of the cliff and peered over, looking for sharp rocks below and finding none.

"It's so pretty!"

That sudden exclamation dragged his attention back to the boy, who was gesturing frantically between his companion and the sky as if he could not comprehend choosing to look at anything else. "It's…" Words failed him, and he decided to compensate for his limited vocabulary by adding a whole new dimension of joy to his voice. "It's so _pretty!_ "

"Isn't it just?" Zeref agreed, and pushed him off the cliff.

It was so unexpected that it didn't even occur to the boy to scream. The best he managed was a sort of startled yelp; it came out more confused than terrified and was closely followed by an equally unremarkable splash.

The anticlimactic nature of the fall, however, was more than made up for by the subsequent explosion. An enormous sheet of water filled Zeref's vision, and he shielded his eyes with his arm as the spray whipped around him, a silvery dance beneath the firmament's light. The droplets had not yet settled when a second burst of water was flung up in front of him, almost as large as the first. It was as if he had thrown the boy into a regularly erupting geyser rather than the sea.

Aware of the cliff's unhappy rumbling beneath his feet, and not too keen on the idea of falling into the ocean himself, Zeref glanced over the edge with caution. The boy appeared to be hanging in mid-air – only, in this case, 'mid-air' was several feet below the normal water level. The ocean's surface curved around him, so that he was momentarily suspended in an abnormal dip in the sea.

As he watched from above, the water succumbed to gravity's pull and flooded back into the gap around the boy, briefly submersing him completely – and an instant later there was a flash of white light and another almighty explosion, and all the water within a few-metre radius of his body was hurled up and away from him. Ghostly gridlines traced through those liquid sheets, separating them into perfect cubes for an instant before they sloshed back together and flowed towards him, forcing the whole process to start again.

This strange cycle continued for several minutes, though the explosions grew weaker every time, and soon the plumes of water were no longer visible from the top of the cliff. By the time Zeref had taken a far safer (and far drier) route down to the strip of pebbled beach, the white lines radiating out from the boy's body had faded almost to the point of invisibility, no longer capable of parting the sea. Thrashing his arms, the boy managed to haul himself up onto the beach, and there he remained: face-down upon the pebbles, soaked to the skin, and shaking from the exertion of not drowning. The waves lapped reproachfully around his ankles.

With a great effort, he raised his head to fix the man he had thought was his friend with an imploring look. "Why…?"

He couldn't manage more than that one desperate word, but the question hung loud in every gasped breath; in every rolling tear: _I said I would leave you alone, so why did you try to kill me?_

Zeref heard those unspoken words and had to fight not to roll his eyes. "Kid, if I wanted you dead, _you would be dead_." He gave a sigh. "Touch the pebbles you're lying on. Pick them up. Throw them."

The boy glanced down at the pebbles beneath him, not understanding. He clutched at them with his hands, and when nothing seemed to happen, he gazed blankly back at the other. "I don't…"

"They're not breaking, are they?"

"They're not…?" He blinked at the stones he was holding. "They're not breaking! I'm holding things and they're not breaking!" He let go of the rocks and then picked them up again, clapping them together repeatedly, and they still refused to break. "It's stopped! Why has it stopped?"

"Because you used up all your magic power trying to destroy the sea," came the cool response. "It's only a temporary solution, but at least this way you'll be able to sleep normally tonight, without constantly hurting me."

"Then… I won't have to be on my own tonight!" The boy's eyes shone with gratitude, mirroring the stars above and below, as if he had already forgotten how close he had come to drowning. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to run over and hug the other, stopped only by the exhaustion preventing him from getting to his feet – something for which Zeref was profoundly grateful.

"I'm… I'm kinda tired though," the boy added, finally noticing this himself. "Maybe I'll just sleep here tonight."

And then he was out like a light, sprawled across the pebbles.

"Figured that would happen," Zeref observed, somewhat ruefully. Shrugging, he turned to leave, but paused after taking only one step. He _knew_ he couldn't leave the boy there. Magical exhaustion was dangerous enough without factoring in the vengefulness of an extraordinarily violent and unpredictable power, and the island might not get cold at night, but the boy's clothes were soaked…

Heaving a sigh – something he felt he had done more in this one day than in the entire rest of his existence put together – he picked up the sodden boy, slung him over his shoulder, and set off back into the forest.


	3. An Unusual Therapist

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Three – An Unusual Therapist**

The following morning, history's dreaded Black Mage was very rudely awoken by someone shaking his shoulders. Zeref kept his eyes closed for as long as he could, hoping that the other person would vanish along with the rest of his retreating dreams, but this was a particularly stubborn nightmare. Even worse, a high-pitched voice, apparently better suited for wailing than talking, insisted, "Wake up! Wake up!"

Even half-asleep, Zeref knew that there wasn't any danger. Any approaching threat would have woken him long ago. But this nightmare in human form – Gildarts, he remembered the boy calling himself, and so much for not getting attached – wasn't to know that, and something clearly had him on edge.

So he opened his eyes and fixed the boy with the most baleful look he could manage this early in the morning. "What?"

Gildarts's face was so uncomfortably close to his that he couldn't fail to notice the relief that sparkled like dewdrops in the boy's eyes. "You're alive!"

"Being alive happens to be one of the things I'm good at," he grunted, brushing the boy's hands away from his shoulders before the white cracks that had appeared there could turn their attention from exploration to conquest.

The boy fell back a couple of paces, but his intensity did not lessen. "Everything's dead! The trees, the flowers – they're all dead!"

Zeref did not bother looking around the clearing to confirm this. He knew what he would find; he had seen it ten thousand times on ten thousand separate mornings. "And yet you're not," he remarked, peering at the boy instead. If he focussed, he could still sense it – that otherworldly shimmer dancing upon his skin, fainter than before but unmistakeably there; unmistakeably familiar.

The Tenrou Tree's magic was immense, and not fully comprehensible even to the great Black Mage, but his mere presence weakened it daily, just as its power calmed and tempered his. He had not thought it – had not thought _her_ – still capable of this. The island protected those with the guild mark from death, but even focussed down into a personal shield, he doubted it would hold up for long against the power of contradiction…

Still, Zeref reflected, the precise nature of the magic surrounding the boy wasn't the point. A note stapled to his forehead saying _Zeref, I want you to help him_ would have been more subtle.

It was to this that his scowl was directed. "You can't protect him forever, Mavis. The curse will win in the end. It always does."

Unsurprisingly, Gildarts didn't look at all reassured by his incomprehensible remarks. "Did I cause this? When I was asleep?"

"If you'd done it, don't you think everything would look a little more… destroyed?"

"…Oh. I guess you're right." The boy glanced around again, shuddered, and fixed his attention back upon his companion. "But then… what happened?"

"Who knows?" Zeref deflected. "But it isn't dangerous to you… I don't think. Not at the moment."

"But the forest's hurt… isn't there anything we can do about it?"

"No. It's just the way things are."

"But…" The boy gave a vehement shake of his head. "There must be _something_ that's doing this to the forest. Maybe, if we could find that thing, and destroy it…"

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" Zeref agreed wistfully. And then his eyes suddenly narrowed and he growled, "Oh, don't give me that look."

"What?" the boy blinked.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Then… who were you talking to?" he queried, glancing over his shoulder and still finding nothing alive in sight.

"None of your business." Zeref got to his feet and stretched, taking in the position of the early morning sun and the clear sky's promise of another beautiful day – as if this island ever offered any other kind of day. "Come on, let's go somewhere else."

Gildarts fell into step beside him without complaint. Away from the circle of newly dead trees, the forest was as lively as ever: great red birds trilled at each other from the branches above them; small mammals scurried to get out of their path; inquisitive eyes watched them from the undergrowth.

Zeref paid them no heed, as both he and they had long ago learnt was best, but the same could not be said for the boy. Everything here was new to him, and exciting; he spent far more time watching the wildlife than paying attention to where he was going. It might have been endearing, if not for the fact that his magic had returned to full vitality overnight, and it was saving him from tripping over by destroying everything he blundered into – whether that was a rock, a tree root, or an increasingly irate Black Mage.

It was on the third round of this that Zeref snapped, "Kid, if you can't keep your magic under control, then at least stop walking into me, or I really will abandon you."

"…Okay. I'm sorry. I'll try."

And he really did try to concentrate on where he was going – for all of about a minute, before a group of monkeys caught his attention, and he ploughed straight through a several-hundred-year-old fir tree while watching them swing through the mismatched canopy. As blocks of wood rained down around them, his companion gave yet another sigh. "Uncontrollable destructive magic _and_ absentmindedness? I cannot think of a worse combination."

The boy hadn't been this bad yesterday, he was sure of it. Since Gildarts had come to realize that his companion wasn't going to abandon him without warning, it seemed that he had started to relax in his presence. That was not a good sign. While there was a part of him that was glad the boy wasn't flinching away from him again, or letting the fear of abandonment bring tears to his eyes every time his magic appeared, the last thing he wanted was for the boy to become used to being around him. That would cause nothing but trouble.

As if to prove this point, Gildarts suddenly spun round to confront him, placing his hands on his hips and declaring, "I'm hungry."

"…Ah."

"Do you have any food?" the boy pressed.

"Do I look like I'm carrying food around with me?"

The boy did a full lap around him to check that he wasn't hiding any picnic hampers before saying, "Guess not. What do you eat, then?"

"Well… as I said, this is a good island. Most of the fruit here is safe to eat." Or so he suspected. His knowledge of obscure magical plants was excellent; his knowledge of edible ones, not so much. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with such matters.

Equally, he doubted plants lethal to humans would be able to grow within an environment saturated by boundless protective magic, so it was with passible confidence that he indicated a cluster of short trees. The island's unnatural climate didn't care much for the constraints of the seasons, and many of the plants here blossomed irregularly and unnaturally often. Half of the trees he pointed out were stubbornly bare, while the remainder bore green melon-like fruits which bent the boughs almost comically. "Those ones aren't poisonous, for a start."

"Okay!" chirruped the boy, and that was as far as his buoyant mood would go that morning.

The first fruit he touched exploded in a burst of white light. He froze, his outstretched hand shaking, mirroring the tremors which had picked up with his anxiety and circled as storm-stirred waves through his unstable magical presence. "I'm- I'm sorry-" he breathed.

There was more than enough volatile energy lurking about the boy to dissuade Zeref from getting any closer – _not,_ of course, that he had been considering doing so. But even if he had been the kind of person inclined towards comforting others, he remembered how the boy had recoiled from his one-off attempt to do just that the previous night; how he expected savage – even physical – reprimands every time his magic went out of control.

Perhaps a reprimand wasn't unwarranted, especially given the trouble the boy's power had already caused him that morning, but Zeref knew better than anyone that control was an ability rather than a choice – and one never spontaneously gained upon being made to feel resented. If anything, it would only increase the likelihood of that wild magic causing him harm.

Instead, he gestured at the ground and said, "The birds seem pretty happy about it, don't you think?"

Gildarts blinked and looked down. The scattered cubes of fruit had drawn a crowd of fearless tiny birds down from the trees, and they hopped and fluttered around the boy's feet, pecking at the fruit and tweeting merrily. Astonished, Gildarts gaped at them as if he'd never seen a bird before, and by the time his companion called out to him to hurry up, his moment of despair had vanished, along with his rogue magic. It still took several attempts for him to grab one of the fruits without it breaking, but perseverance won out, and he darted back with two of them in his arms, one of which he offered up to his companion with a beaming smile.

Zeref stared at it for a long moment before accepting it, and in the end, he set it aside without eating it. The boy didn't notice. He was too busy squinting at his own, as if trying to work out what on earth he was supposed to do with it. Zeref cracked open the tough outer shell for him, as any attempt the boy made himself would have resulted in the disintegration of the entire fruit, and then he settled down to eat.

After watching his blissful and rather messy contentedness for a moment, Zeref asked, "Did they really just abandon you on this island with nothing? It seems very out of character for Mavis's guild."

"Well… I suppose they did leave me with some stuff. Quite a lot of stuff, actually. But…"

"You destroyed it?"

The boy gave him a sheepish, syrup-splattered grin.

"I suppose it might be worth going back to the cove and seeing if any of it is salvageable."

A shrug. "If you say so. I don't know the way back, though."

"I do. But I swear, if you wander off again, I won't come after you."

Jumping to his feet, the boy promised him, "I won't! I'll pay attention!"

For some reason, it wasn't at all reassuring, but Zeref supposed it would have to do.

* * *

In the end, they made it safely to the cove. Gildarts only wandered off twice, and both times it was in pursuit of the island's great red birds, which he seemed rather taken with. If the bird species had an official name then Zeref did not know what it was, but they looked like large peacocks, bedecked in fiery crimson and orange, with great sweeping tail-feathers as long as their body again. At full height, their heads did not rise much higher than his waist, but that put them almost as tall as the boy – and with a glorious wingspan of several metres, the first one they saw had bowled away a child already in awe of the littlest birds on the island.

It was upon their second encounter with one of these great birds that the boy proudly announced his intention to catch it and ride it up to the top of the Tenrou Tree, and he had dashed off in hot pursuit before a frustrated Zeref could catch hold of him.

After a long deliberation with himself, during which several curse words and Mavis's name had come up repeatedly, Zeref had gone after the boy and found him sat cross-legged at the foot of the tree the bird had fled up, waiting patiently for it to come down. As usual, the bird took one look at the approaching Black Mage and vanished in a flurry of feathers, and thus he had been able to convince the disappointed boy to abandon his post and carry on.

Once they reached the cove, though, the boy cheered up again with the start of a new game: treasure hunting. Even being told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't allowed to touch anything didn't seem to dampen his enthusiasm. He was probably given that instruction a lot. He hovered a few paces away as his companion inspected the crates left on beach.

There were two of them, the unexciting yet reliable kind used for transporting cargo during long sea voyages. There had once been three, but the third and all its contents had been reduced to dust. Fortunately, with that one as a distraction for the boy's power, the other two had escaped unscathed.

Or so it seemed, but as Zeref prised the lid off the first one, he was greeted by a rather unpleasant sight. It had once contained food, probably enough to last a single human for days on a generous diet, but now it looked as though the entire contents of the crate had been put through a blender in an attempt to create an everything-flavoured smoothie.

"I think we might leave that one for the wildlife," he decided, while the boy shuffled his feet guiltily.

Thankfully, the final crate didn't contain anything edible. Being tougher than food, its contents had also fared slightly better; most of the tools he pulled out were damaged but usable. Amongst the most useful were a couple of blankets, a penknife, a rucksack, a towel, and four bottles of water, which all went onto the 'keep' pile. There was even a sleeping bag, which sported a large rip down one side but was a lot better than nothing – and as far as Zeref was concerned, anything that might encourage the boy to stop trying to use him as a pillow was worth taking.

It was when they reached the bottom of the crate that the boy's excitability reached its peak, and his determination not to touch anything didn't have a hope of keeping up. He darted around the cove like a hungry seagull, except his target wasn't the seafood buffet inside each rockpool, but the miscellaneous items of clothing stuffed into the box – and all the agility in the world wouldn't have helped Zeref protect them.

"Are these really all for me?" Gildarts marvelled, diving under the other's arm and retreating with his prize, a rolled-up white t-shirt. He held it up to the sky, even more in awe of a common item of clothing than he had been of the island's wonders.

Zeref let him go. Best to give that one up as lost and use the distraction to scoop the rest of the clothes safely onto the keep pile. "Well, they're hardly big enough for me."

"Look! This one's got a lion on it!"

"Wonderful."

"I'm gonna put it on!"

"Can't you wait until- no, clearly you can't."

Careless impropriety aside, it probably wasn't a bad idea. The boy's magic didn't damage his clothes for the same reason that it didn't damage his skin; he, and thus his power, subconsciously saw whatever he was wearing as a part of himself, and left it untouched. Yet it seemed that life, in this case, hadn't needed the assistance. He had been wearing little more than black rags when he had arrived, and being dragged bodily through a rockfall and then thrown into the sea hadn't helped their structural integrity.

Getting rid of his old clothes thus should have been a good thing, but as the boy chucked his tattered t-shirt enthusiastically up into the air, it revealed, just for a moment, pale skin marred repeatedly with ugly blue and violet. Many of the marks were new, and had most likely come from the long and terrible chain of events which had resulted in a child being dumped on an uninhabited island, but many more were old, and none were placed where they would easily be seen.

Zeref closed his eyes for a long moment, and only when a voice exclaimed, "Ta-dah!" did he open them again. The boy was proudly puffing his chest out, showing off the glittering red lion upon his t-shirt as if nothing had changed. And it hadn't, Zeref supposed; all it had done was confirm what some part of him had already known.

The boy was waiting for a response, so he said, "Very nice," and received a broad smile in return.

"So, is there anything else in the treasure chest?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh…" Returning his attention to the matter at hand, he threw out a pair of shoes, one of which had an abnormally square hole in the bottom – ignoring the boy's protest that the other shoe was still perfectly usable – and he felt a shiver of magic brush along his senses.

"Oh, now, you're interesting," he remarked, lifting up a furry coat (which had clearly been packed by someone who had never been to Tenrou Island) and untangling a strange device from within. It looked like a traditional wizard's staff: an orb of glassy crystal sat atop a sturdy wooden cane, whose length was carved with runes. Granted, the staff was barely a foot long because the boy's rampaging power had snapped it in two, but it was quite clearly a magical artefact, and there was still energy bound inside it.

"What is it? What is it?" the boy called out. He dashed over, remembered that he wasn't allowed to touch it in the nick of time, skidded to a halt, and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as a substitute for handling it himself.

"It looks like a magical tool designed to repel monsters."

"Whoa." The boy's eyes grew comically wide. "How does it work?"

"If you stick the end of the staff into the ground, it will generate a small cylindrical barrier centred upon itself. It isn't strong magic and it certainly won't hold up against a sustained assault, but it should prevent wild animals from getting too close while you're asleep."

"Like this?" the boy asked, and rather than waiting for an answer, he snatched the device out of the other's hands and thrust the end into a crack in the rocky shelf.

There was a flash of light and he was thrown backwards, landing on his bottom with a startled yelp. He gazed up at the staff, which stood there innocuously, before turning to his companion in wonder. "I think it thought I was a monster!"

It was surprisingly difficult for Zeref to suppress his smile. "No, it's just broken." Picking up the device, he held it out to the boy, indicating the carved letters. "See these runes? They stabilize the magic in the lacrima and guide it into the form of the barrier. They fix its radius, height, and strength, and they also contain all the technical details of how to convert the energy into a stable form – the instructions for the magic, if you like. But because you broke it, the instructions are incomplete. Rather than deploying the barrier, it just emitted raw energy until it triggered the safety cut-off and reverted to its dormant state."

"…Oh." Gildarts looked blankly from his companion to the broken staff and then back again. "You're actually quite smart, aren't you?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised."

"Huh." The boy peered at the device while the other held it carefully just out of his reach. "Can you really read the writing on that?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of? How can you _sort of_ read something?"

"Well… if you'd asked me a while back, the answer would have been yes, but I'm a little out of practice. Still, it would be a shame to waste such an expensive magical tool. I might be able to fix it. I'll keep hold of it; see what I can do." He tossed it over his shoulder and it clattered to the ground beside the 'keep' pile. "And, finally…"

His attention turned to the last item the cove had to offer them. This one sat apart from the crates: a small mound of grey-green canvas that might have been a tent, except that there were no poles or supports in sight. "You're magical too, aren't you?" he asked of it, kneeling down in order to examine it properly.

"That one's broken as well," the boy informed him sadly.

"It doesn't look broken to me." Zeref ran his hands over the surface of the material as he spoke. Where another man might have checked for tears in the canvas, however, he was probing the defensive magic woven into it for any signs of damage. The patterns of its enchantments revealed themselves to his mind, and a quick scan through them turned up no obvious anomalies.

Gildarts insisted, "No, it is. I broke the crystal thing by accident so it won't work any more."

"Ah, the lacrima? That's not a problem. It was only acting as a power source here anyway. If I can find…"

His words tailed off as he buried his head beneath a fold of smooth material. The boy watched in bemusement as he rummaged around and eventually re-emerged holding a thick cable. It was about an inch in diameter, a steel rope made of many intertwining threads, and its end was frayed where the lacrima had been torn away. He rested the frayed end on his palm, curled his fingers around it, and pushed his own magic into the wire.

At this, the tent began to assemble itself. It unfolded and took on a standard dome shape, stretched to its fullest extent, with a rigidity that the lack of tent poles couldn't explain. He regarded it critically, assessing its magic through the link he had formed with it. "A shield to deflect rain and wind… oh, and to protect against temperature extremes. This could be useful. It's a shame it will only hold its form while someone is supplying it with magic now, but all in all, this looks like a high-quality piece of gear. Whoever dropped you on this island spared no expense-"

" _Whoooaaa_."

Startled by that drawn-out exclamation, he glanced up to find the boy gaping at him. Gildarts pointed from him to the tent and then back to him with the same level of awe he had granted the divine firmament. "That is _so_ cool."

Zeref blinked at him. "Kid, your magic can destroy literally anything you touch, and you think that _this_ is cool?"

He nodded earnestly. "I wish I could do something like that."

Letting go of the cable, Zeref allowed the tent to collapse back down to its portable form. "There's no reason why you wouldn't be able to learn. You'd find it simple enough, if your magic wasn't destroying everything you touched."

"Do you think I'll ever be able to stop destroying things?"

There was a pause. "Who can say?" Zeref deflected. His eyes suddenly darkened, and he reiterated, "I'm not doing it, Mavis. I'm in too deep as it is." As the boy blinked at him in bewilderment, he added, "This is different!" Then: "It just _is!_ "

"Umm…" Cautiously, the boy tugged at his arm to attract his attention. "Are you alright…?"

"Yes, everything's _fine_ ," he snapped, and when the boy flinched, he bit back his anger with the self-discipline of practice. "Let's get this usable equipment away from the shore before the tide comes in."

"…Okay." The boy still sounded nervous, but he shuffled obediently over to the 'keep' pile. "Shouldn't the tide already have come in, though?"

"You'd think that, but, as with most things on this island, the tide tends to come in when it wants to come in, rather than when the moon tells it to. It'll be better if we can find a spot far inland to use as our base of operations." He handed one of the bottles of water to the boy. "Here, you carry-"

But the moment he grabbed it, the bottle burst apart, drenching them both with water. Rainbow droplets rained down through the silence.

Slowly, Zeref reached up and brushed his sodden fringe out of his eyes. "Well, I should have seen that coming…"

"I'm sorry!" the boy burst out. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to… I…" It was impossible to tell whether those were water droplets or tears sparkling in his eyes, as he waited, terrified, for something bad to happen.

Zeref remarked, "You get shouted at a lot at home, don't you, kid?"

The boy gave a timid nod. "All the time. But it's my fault… because I'm always breaking things… because I ruin everything…"

 _Your parents did more than just shout at you, didn't they?_ Zeref thought grimly. _I can't do anything about this, Mavis._

In the crashing of the waves and the murmuring of the breeze an answer came to him, and he didn't like it. He shook his head slowly, as if weighed down by all the years he had lived. A shadow flitted across his face, but when he turned to the boy once again, all trace of it had gone.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll carry everything; we'll make a few trips. Come along. We've got a lot of walking ahead of us."

* * *

Late afternoon found the Black Mage sat in a clearing deep within the forest, whittling. Granted, it was rare for him _not_ to be found sitting in a clearing these days, but it was unusual for him to have a task to occupy his waking hours, and that only went double when it was something creative. This may well have been his first ever attempt at whittling, but then again, the last twenty-four hours had been full of new things. Besides, what he lacked in experience he more than made up for with patience and a steady hand.

He had cut a branch from the Tenrou Tree – by far the most magic-receptive wood on the island – and stripped it of leaves and twigs, then carefully sliced away the aged outer bark. The penknife he had picked up from the cove was hardly the best tool for accomplishing this, but it was the only one he had, so he made do. Once that was done, he was left holding a long, thin cane, which was to form the basis of the new staff he was carving to replace the one Gildarts had broken.

That was the easy bit. The difficulty lay in getting the runes upon it exactly right. He started from the top, where he still had the broken one to use as a reference, and slowly worked his way down. For the most part, he merely copied the runes across, amending them only when he came up with a more efficient way of wording an instruction or closing a loophole. What he would do when his reference material ran out – well, that would be a true test of what he could remember, but even as he worked away at the early stages, he was already analysing potential approaches in the back of his mind.

And that was a problem.

The thing was, he _really_ wasn't supposed to be doing this.

No books, no artefacts, no weapons. No magic, unless it was necessary, for the most harmless temptations were always the most dangerous, and one thing would lead to another until that single snowflake triggered the most brutal avalanche. No involvement with the fate of mankind; no meddling in that little empire growing ever stronger across the sea. No one's ally, and no one's enemy. Nothing to suggest that he was any less dead and buried than the legends asserted. Those were the conditions of his self-imposed exile.

He was to wait, and nothing more. That was what he had decided. That was the only way he had been able to retain some measure of calm in the years after she had died; that was the only reason why the world still trundled obliviously on its way, safe from the scourging black devastation that he knew it deserved, but that she would not have wanted for it. Apathy was a virtue, when the only other choice was hate.

It wasn't as though he had never broken those rules. His was a voluntary imprisonment; the barriers around the island, which, to one without the guild mark, ought not to allow passage out any more than in, could not hold him if he truly set his mind to leaving. There was a little voice somewhere deep inside and that alone was capable of enforcing the conditions of his exile – but it was often quiet enough to ignore, and on bad days, he could not hear it at all. He left, and he interfered, and he _created;_ projects which might one day turn out to have terrible consequences for the world… but he had never not returned to the island. Not yet.

Several years had passed since his last relapse. Quite how many he did not know, but it was enough for him to have become so immersed in the solitude and disinterestedness and stoic _waiting_ that he could not even contemplate taking action again. At least, not until he glanced at the half-carved staff and realized that he was at that very moment breaking one of his own fundamental rules.

He wasn't supposed to create. Yes, the rule had been conceived with monstrous demons and world-changing weapons and terrible new magics in mind, but there was a reason why he hadn't restricted the ban to those things. Nothing was as dangerous as that slippery slope – today he was simply fixing a survival tool, and tomorrow he'd be improving it, and then the day after that he'd be adding offensive powers as well as defensive ones _just to see if he could still do it_ and the next thing he'd know, he'd be holding a terrifying new weapon he could mass produce for his army _-_

Did he not trust himself to stop? He thought that it wasn't as straightforward as that. Certainly, it was awareness of his own unpredictability, of the vast and alarming contrast between his good days and his bad days, that necessitated exile in the first place. On the other hand, the voice of his conscience, which had been so very vocal over the past twenty-four hours, had failed to bring this transgression to his attention – and even now that he had consciously realized what he was doing, it was the continuing lack of objections, rather than their presence, that gave him pause. If that wasn't trust, he didn't know what was.

Still, whether right or wrong, he wasn't about to stop now. He had already written enough for the magic to begin to take shape. Despite the staff not being connected to a power source, the island (and he himself) emitted enough ambient magic to make every rune he carved shimmer violet and fade slowly, and he hadn't realized how much he had missed the feel of it. He had told the boy that he would fix the artefact, and even though he been too distracted to understand what that entailed when he had said it, it _would_ be useful if he could get it working – and besides, he enjoyed testing his knowledge. That never changed, no matter how much time passed.

Most importantly, he enjoyed the peace and quiet. Apparently, watching a novice whittler strip bark from a branch wasn't the kind of gripping entertainment the boy had been hoping for, and he had wandered off in search of something more fun to do. Zeref had made no attempt to stop him. In fact, he was just glad to be alone again. After informing the boy in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to come and find him if he got lost, he had settled down to his work in peace.

And he almost managed to forget about the boy.

Almost.

But as much as he would have liked to, he could hardly forget about the single most unexpected thing that had happened to him in years, and – as dangerous as it was to admit it – he was a little worried about what the boy might get up to while left to his own devices. When the sound of the third consecutive explosion reached his ears, he lowered his knife and gazed out into the thickening trees, as if he could somehow see all the way to wherever the boy was.

"I take it that's the bird-chasing ending in tragedy," he remarked, before turning his attention back to his carving project with a shrug. "Of course I'm not going after him. I made that quite clear."

So he stayed where he was and ignored the uncomfortable prickling concern, as he had learnt to do over the years, and nothing in the clearing died.

True to his word, however, the boy had not forgotten the route back to the clearing they had designated as their base, and a few minutes later he shuffled into view. If not for the distinctive firecracker-sparking of his magical presence, he could easily have been mistaken for a troll. There were twigs and leaves sticking out of his shaggy ginger hair at every angle; the new t-shirt he had been so proud of had acquired enough stains to conceal its sparkling lion; but above everything else, his eyes were red from crying so many tears that they had washed the mud from his cheeks. He stepped into the clearing and paused.

Zeref, who was in the middle of carving a particularly complex rune it had taken ages to coax out of his deep memory, spared the boy little more than a glance as he entered. From the corner of his eye, he caught the oddly longing look thrown in his direction and sighed inwardly. He hadn't had nearly enough time alone to mentally prepare him for a clingy, upset child invading his personal space.

Yet seconds passed and nothing happened. The anticipated distraction failed to materialize. He carved another rune, but this one failed to glow; his mind was elsewhere. Frowning, he looked up from his work to find that the boy was sat at the foot of a tree over the other side of the clearing, staring at the ground with his knees drawn up to his chest.

It seemed that the boy _did_ know how to respect his personal space, after all. That was good.

Or was it?

 _Yes,_ he told himself, trying to put the boy out of his mind and concentrate on his work, but it was difficult now that his peace and quiet had dissolved into a constant background of sniffing, shivering and hiccoughing. The boy clearly wanted comforting. He wouldn't have come here otherwise. But when Zeref had not been friendly – had not acknowledged him – had not _wanted_ him to approach – well, then the boy had kept his distance, like a civilized human being.

Which was exactly what he'd hoped for, but…

If the boy was keeping a respectable distance not because he thought it was the right thing to do, but because he was afraid of the repercussions of getting closer…

Zeref thought about the timidity and the bruises, and the carefree cheerfulness that emerged only in tandem with the boy's belief that he would not be abandoned. He thought too about the warning he had given – _I can't do anything about this_ – and the answer that had come back to him on the wind. And he remembered, as if all the years since had folded into a single day, waking up surrounded by corpses and _not knowing why_ \- not having _anyone_ to turn to-

He'd dealt with it alone because he'd had no choice, but if there'd been someone from the start who understood… how different might things have turned out?

Before he knew it, he had thrown the staff he was carving over to the other side of the clearing, out of range of the coming storm, and called, "Alright, alright, you can come over here!"

If the boy noticed the snarl in his voice then he gave no sign of it, immediately jumping to his feet, sprinting over, and throwing himself bodily at the other. He curled up against him and sobbed into his chest, and the Black Mage held him like he had not held another human being in so many years, and let him cry. The boy's rampant magic ripped through him, so he closed his eyes and pretended it didn't hurt and just kept holding him close.

And for the boy's part, he didn't notice that the trees his power was shattering were already dead, or that the uncontrolled emotions radiating out from the two of them were levelling the surrounding forest with cold efficiency. He did not see the hateful black death swirling around him, nor the brave golden light that, for the time being, was sufficient to push it back. No- he felt only the warmth of that embrace, and the kindness of the hand that gently stroked his hair, and in that moment, when he was in more danger than ever before, he had never felt so safe.

Eventually, the boy's enormous sobs ceased. The magic surging around them settled into an uneasy equilibrium, leaving them sat at the centre of a new patch of wasteland. Zeref eyed the devastation with distaste. There was a sore ache in his muscles, an after-effect of repelling so much of the boy's violent magic from his body. He wanted to get up and stretch to ease the tension, but the boy had only just calmed down, and he didn't want to disturb him again. He settled for growling his annoyance as words: "I hope you're happy, Mavis."

The sound of his voice caused Gildarts to stir. He mumbled something that was difficult to make out, but which was almost certainly him asking if Zeref was unhurt, unaware that the only one who had come close to dying throughout that encounter was he himself.

"I'm fine," he sighed. When the boy didn't look convinced, he gruffly changed the subject. "I'm not happy about the mud you've managed to get all over my clothes, though. You've got a whole new wardrobe you can change into, but none of the clothes we salvaged are going to fit me."

"No… The sleeping bag might be big enough for you, though."

"And, what, I could crawl around like a caterpillar in it?"

The boy tried to giggle but it came out as more of a choking cough. "That would be quite funny."

"For you, maybe." Zeref shifted position on the ground, uncomfortable now that the tree he had been resting against had been turned to dust. "What happened, kid?" When no response was forthcoming, he pressed, "If you didn't want to talk about it, you should have gone somewhere to be on your own, not come looking for me."

The boy's arms tightened around him, as if trying to work out whether being alone would really be worse than recounting his experience. "I… I found a big group of birds," he sniffed, having concluded that it was. "I was chasing them and they kept pecking me and flying off, but they never went very far. We were only playing. And then… I finally caught one. They have such big wings, you know? Even bigger than their tails. And it was going to take me to the top of the huge tree, but I- but I-"

"You killed it."

"I didn't mean to," he said, a haunted whisper. "It was going to help me, and then... then it died, because of me. Just like mummy and daddy… everyone around me dies. I can't do this any more. I don't want to hurt anyone else. I want to die."

"No, you don't."

The sudden, even response took the boy by surprise. "Yes, I do," he objected, more out of defensiveness than any real conviction.

"No. You're far too young to be able to make a decision like that."

Perplexed by his certainty, the boy floundered. "But… I…"

"If you died, you'd never be able to see the stars again, or learn to operate magical tools, or reach the top of the Tenrou Tree."

"Well… I do want to do all those things, but…"

"You know, the top of the Tenrou Tree is the best place to watch the stars from. It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, especially as the sun goes down."

The sorrow thickening around the boy's heart was no match for his childish awe. "You've been up there?"

"I told you, I've been everywhere on this island."

"I want to see it! Can you take me there?"

"Maybe," he said, and he gently ruffled the boy's hair. "But do you see what I mean? You're too young. There is still too much wonder in you for you to possibly want to die. It isn't something you should say lightly, especially not to me." There was a hundred years in that sigh, and he let his hand fall back to the ground. "If you still want to die in ten years' time, come and see me again. In the meantime, find a way to do those things you want to do, and don't let anyone stop you. You want to explore this entire world and see everything that it has to offer, don't you?"

"I… Maybe I could live somewhere far away from other people and go exploring on my own. That way I wouldn't hurt anyone… oh, but there would still be all the animals and the trees and… I don't want to live in a way that's going to hurt anything." Gildarts released his death-grip on his companion and sat down right next to him, staring numbly at his hands. "I hate it. I'm trying so hard to stop it, and I just… can't. I cause problems for everyone. That's why I was abandoned here. And now I'm only causing problems for you too."

"You can say that again." Zeref turned his gaze skyward. "I can't help him, Mavis. You know what will happen if I try – you know it better than anyone."

The boy prodded his arm. "Who's Mavis?"

Zeref stared at him for a long moment. "A friend of mine."

"I don't see her," said the boy doubtfully, glancing around the clearing.

"That's because she's invisible."

"I don't hear her either."

"She doesn't say much."

Gildarts frowned at him. "But if you can't see her or hear her, how do you know she's there?"

"I don't."

"Are you going to stop talking to her, then?"

"You ask a lot of questions, kid."

"Well, I've never really had anyone to talk to before. None of the other boys in the village would let me play with them. Then grandma and grandpa stopped visiting, and Uncle Robin, and… and I had to stay in the basement a lot… and now mummy and daddy are gone and Uncle Robin is in hospital and I'm stuck here, but I don't feel lonely any more, because you're here too and you talk to me and you're maybe the first friend I've ever really had." Here he paused in his convoluted explanation to give his companion a beaming smile. "And Mavis can be my second friend. Even if I can't really talk to her."

For a long time, Zeref said nothing at all. He ran a hand through his hair – the exasperated gestures were getting worse – and heaved a sigh. "Alright. Fine. I'll try to help him. But whatever happens will be on your hands, Mavis. Remember that."

With that, he got to his feet and glared down at the boy. "Get up. We're going for a walk."

"We do a lot of walking," the boy pointed out.

"Yes, and now we're going to do some more." As an afterthought, he picked up his carving project from the far side of the clearing – where it, along with their tent and supplies, had narrowly escaped the destruction – and began walking off. He did not look to see if the boy was following him, and more than a small part of him hoped that he was not, but the now-familiar sound of wild magic shattering tree roots told him that he was only a few feet behind.

As he walked, he spoke. He wasn't talking to the boy, who wouldn't understand; he was speaking out loud only to get his thoughts in order. It might be best if he treated the boy's situation like a purely academic test of his knowledge. That was surely better than treating it as an attempt to help someone, because the last time he had done that… well, it didn't bear thinking about. He _did_ think about it – four decades on and there were still days when he could think of little else – but he needed a clear head right now, and the emotions tied to those memories would only get in the way.

So he said, "There are two reasons why your magic could be going out of control. The first is that there might be something physically wrong with it – it could have developed incorrectly, though I've never heard of that happening before, or it could have been intentionally broken by an external force."

"What sort of thing could break magic?" the boy inquired.

"Oh, I don't know; some spiteful god's curse, maybe? But you'd better pray that that isn't the case, because if you're like me then there really is no hope for you."

"…Oh. What's the other reason?"

"Trauma. Psychological problems, usually but not always stemming from a particularly distressing event in the past, can make it difficult or even impossible to use magic properly. In other words, I'm almost certain that the problem isn't with your magic, but with you."

"And… can that be fixed, then?"

"Probably, by a professional therapist. But by _me?_ I'm not entirely sure what Mavis is thinking." He shook his head despairingly. "But if I don't try, she'll just keep nagging me about it, so… Ah, here we are."

"What's here?" Gildarts inquired. Before them lay a little beach: several metres of golden sand and gentle waves. It was pretty, but by Tenrou Island's standards, it was remarkably mundane.

"Nothing's here. Absolutely nothing. No plant or animal life, and the sand's so small already that your magic won't be able to touch it. I'm going to sit on that rock over there, and you're going to tell me about your family and your village and how you ended up on this island."

The boy, who had already started skipping happily across the sand, stopped in his tracks. "But I don't… really want to talk about that…"

"Yes, and I don't really want to hear about it either, but if you don't tell me, we won't be able to get anywhere." Sitting down upon the rock he had indicated, Zeref flicked open the knife and began adding more runes to the staff. "Go on. Talk."

"Well… are you even listening?"

"Mavis is listening."

The boy gave him a suspicious look. "How do you _know_ she's listening?"

"Well, she'd better be, because I'm sure as hell not going to know how to help you," he scowled. "Now, are you going to talk about your problems or what?"

"…Can I go in the sea?"

"…Yes, you can go in the sea."

The boy took off his shoes and rolled his trousers up, then ran forwards just in time for a wave to break over his feet. He walked around in circles in the shallow water, looking for shells and strands of seaweed that drifted beneath the foam. The small white cracks that parted the water's surface ever so briefly made no difference to the steady splashing of the waves. In between the bright sun and the cool water and the vast glittering ocean spread out before him, and the knowledge that he was not alone, he found some measure of peace, and it was easier for him to talk.

And all the while the Black Mage sat and carved runes from memory into a makeshift staff, listening patiently and reflecting upon the fact that adding 'therapist' to his long list of titles was not even the most bizarre thing that had happened to him that day.


	4. A Tragic Tale

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Four – A Tragic Tale**

 _Their house isn't big, but he's so small that it seems enormous. He must have explored the whole building a hundred times – half of those before he could even walk – and yet every time he manages to find some new secret: a loose floorboard in the upstairs bedroom; a new nook or cranny to hide away in; a dusty trinket that might have been misplaced by some ancient king or might have been slipped into the back of the dresser by his mother when he wasn't looking._

 _Today, he's allowed to explore the basement for the first time. The air below the trapdoor tastes of mould and mystery. His father goes in first, torch held aloft, brandishing a feather duster like an adventurer's sword, and the boy creeps along behind him, peering with nervous awe around his legs. It's full of boxes from when they moved in; they search through them together and find odd bits of piping that delight the boy as much as a hoard of gold. They flee in pretend terror from a family of spiders, charging up the steps and collapsing at the top and laughing together._

 _By the time they stumble back into the kitchen, the boy has forgotten all about his newfound treasures, because the walls are covered in balloons and sparkling banners and his mother hands him his favourite: a big bowl of jelly and ice cream. His eyes grow to impossible proportions. He hadn't forgotten it was his birthday – what child does? – but his parents had done an excellent job of pretending that_ they _had._

 _He seizes the spoon with twice as much enthusiasm as usual – and white light flashes across the plastic. It cracks. The head of the spoon clatters to the floor._

 _His parents exchange a look that he doesn't notice; it's not the first time this has happened and their hope that it might be the last seems to grow more futile every day. But they say nothing, and when the boy sets down the broken spoon, picks up the bowl in both hands, raises it to his mouth, and begins to slurp the contents down, the tension vanishes as quickly as it appeared._

 _"That's the way, son," his father laughs, ruffling his hair._

 _His mother sighs, but she, too, is trying not to smile._

* * *

 _He loves the supermarket. He loves how big everything is, and how colourful, and how even now he only recognizes half the vegetables on display; every season seems to bring something new to the shelves. Ordinary wonders abound in a farming village. Most of all, though, he loves the way that his mother will buy him any one thing he wants if there's money left over that week, and sometimes even if there isn't. He always finds the most peculiar vegetable he can, and she always finds a way of cooking it for him – even if that means investigating which neighbour grew it and requesting family recipes._

 _That's what he's thinking about as he scampers down the aisle, and he's craning his neck to look at the highest shelves – he doesn't want to miss anything – when he trips and falls face-first into a stack of crates._

 _There's a flash of white light. Wood shatters like glass hit by a hammer, flung away from his body, and he lands unharmed on the floor, immersed by a waterfall of satsumas. The way they rain down and bounce elastic enchants him, and he doesn't realize this is wrong until he hears his mother sigh. "Oh, Gildarts, what have I told you about being careful?"_

 _She sweeps him up in one arm and sets him on her hip, holding the basket in her other hand, and still she manages a graceful, apologetic bow to the manager dashing towards the disturbance. She's had a lot of practice. "Sir, I'm so sorry. I'll clear this up- I'll buy any that are too bruised to sell-"_

 _"No need to worry, Mrs Clive. Kids will be kids. You carry on with your shopping now, and think no more of it." As he turns back to the mess, he mutters, "But what happened to the crates…?"_

 _She hears, and although she does not offer an explanation, she buys far more satsumas than she needs._

 _There's no money left over this week._

 _She doesn't hold his hand on the way back home, either._

* * *

 _When they're shopping in town, the other villagers have started to avoid them. Old family friends pretend not to notice them; they cross over to the other side of the street and disappear into the shops. Those unfortunate enough to make eye-contact quickly find excuses to leave any conversation which comes of it. His mother invites the Mayor and his family for dinner every time she runs into him, but he's never once accepted. Not for as long as her son can remember, at least._

 _His mother thinks he hasn't noticed this, but he has. He's noticed because it's the same way that the other boys treat him. He never gets to play with them any more, because e_ _veryone knows he breaks things. It doesn't matter that cheap toy trucks and foam swords don't survive more than a single round of make-believe adventuring even when he's not there; it's all his fault and everyone agrees._ _He's not invited, and every time he happens across them, they always seem to be packing up and going home. Sorry, we can play tomorrow, they say, but tomorrow hasn't come yet._

 _He'd gone after them, once, and found that they hadn't really gone home_ _–_ _they were all playing together in the park. Ever since that time the big kid pushed the roundabout too quickly and he'd been scared and screamed to get off and the roundabout had spontaneously broken, he'd been banned from the park, and the others were eager to remind him of that. He hadn't wanted to ruin the swings and the slides for everyone else, so he'd gone away again._

 _The boys always play in the park now. They're there even when they're just racing or playing ball; things they could do in the streets or the fields if they wanted to. There's some part of him that understands that the old lady who hurries across the road when his mother calls to her is simply going to race her toy cars within the boundaries of the park._

 _He knows it's because of him, too. He's the one they edge away from; the one they warn to stay away from their children. He's the one the Mayor glares at as he informs them in words surely too polite to be a threat that there's no place for magic in the village. He's the one his mother is talking about when she insists that it's just a phase and he'll grow out of it and yes, they'll be stricter on him if that's what it takes, because they can't possibly leave, sir, they've lived here for their whole lives and it's not a curse and they haven't done anything wrong and they can fix this_ \- _fix_ him _-_

 _He is always sure to apologize. His mother thinks he doesn't know what he's apologizing for, and it only makes her angrier, but it's the right thing to do, so he does it anyway._

* * *

 _"I'm sorry, Mrs Clive, but your son may not come into the supermarket."_

 _"He won't touch anything, I swear-"_

 _"I want to believe you, Mrs Clive, I really do, but three incidents in one month suggest otherwise! You're welcome to come in, but your boy has to stay outside."_

 _There's a post where they tether pet dogs while their owners are shopping, and that's where she makes him sit, his wrist tied loosely to the post so that he can't wander off. There's a dog already there. It's a little brown one, with floppy ears even larger than its tail, and he sits there and pets it and flaps its ears and strokes its nose and rubs its tummy, and that's much better than shopping, since he never gets to pick any new foods to try any more._

 _The boys come by, the ones who won't play with him, and when they see him tied to the post they jeer and call him a dog. He doesn't understand why they're laughing. Dogs are great. He'd love to be a dog. Maybe they're jealous._

 _It's what they call his mother because of him that he doesn't like. The post shatters at this, and the dog he's petting wriggles out of his tightening grip and flees the instant its lead disintegrates. Still, he doesn't get up, because ever since he broke the leg of a boy eight years older without knowing how – without meaning to – and cried over it for three days, he's been determined not to get into any more fights. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. So he sits there, poking at little rocks in the earth and watching them crumble into dust, until the boys get bored of mocking him and his family and move on._

 _It doesn't matter. It's nothing to be upset about. They always go away if he waits long enough._

 _Besides, he knows his mother is an adult, and adults are sensible. She won't be upset by little things like name-calling._

* * *

 _The sound of shattering crockery has become commonplace around the house. So too has the cause, if the way his mother shouts his name before she's even turned round – before the shards of blue and white china have so much as settled around his feet_ _–_ _is any indication._

 _"Gildarts-" she begins, and when she sees those tell-tale fragments, the signature colours of an upmarket manufacturer clashing against the threadbare carpet as if ashamed to be seen with it, her voice rises to a shriek. "You broke the china! You stupid boy! How many times must I tell you that you're only allowed to use the paper cups before you get it into your head-?"_

 _"I was getting it for Uncle Robin!" the boy protests. "I'm sorry, I just thought he'd like… because he gave them to us…"_

 _"It's just a cup, Sylvie," Robin interjects, soothingly; he would have picked up the dustpan and brush himself if the boy hadn't snatched it out from beneath his fingertips and zipped straight back to the damage. "Accidents happen-"_

 _"GET OUT!" she shrieks to the boy, and he drops the brush and runs to his room. He scrambles up the stairs with familiar ease; throws himself not onto his bed but to the floor in the very centre of the room, as far away from everything as possible. He draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them and wishes that the light still twitching around his hands will disappear, just like his mother wants._

 _As the bedroom door swings shut, he hears his uncle trying to convince his mother that kids will be kids, and she shrieks again, "No kid is like this! Only mine! What did I ever do to deserve this-?"_

* * *

 _His father crouches down in front of him. He used to do this when they were sharing secrets, or preparing for a courageous expedition into the attic or the garden shed, but there's none of that conspiratorial familiarity in his voice now. There hasn't been for a while._

 _He says, "The Mayor is coming over for a very serious conversation today, Gildarts. You're going to be on your best behaviour. Do you know what that means?"_

 _The boy gives a determined nod, counting the points off on his fingers as he recites them. "It means I'm going to sit in the corner, not speak unless spoken to, and absolutely not touch anything."_

 _"No, Gildarts, your_ best _behaviour."_

 _"Oh! I'm going to be in the basement!"_

 _"That's right. And you're going to stay there and not make a sound until I come and let you out."_

 _"Okay!" he chirrups. And it_ is _okay. He likes the basement. He really does. It's full of boxes he can use to build forts with, and sometimes, if he's lucky, he can find spiders as big as his hand hiding in the bottom of them._

 _If he's_ really _lucky, his father even might remember to give him a torch this time._

* * *

 _He watches through a crack in the door as his father tosses an envelope down on the table. "Another letter from your brother."_

 _His mother's response comes without consideration, without energy, just as it always does. "Ignore it."_

 _"This is the third he's sent in a fortnight. You have to write back. The last thing we want is for him to just turn up again-"_

 _"What can I tell him?"_

 _"That… we've got it under control. It's getting better but it's taking time, and we can't travel down to see him right now, since we all need to be here to help with the… lessons."_

 _"What if he sees it as an invitation to come to us?"_

 _"We'll say-"_

 _That's when he pushes the door open and bounds into the room, forgetting, in his eagerness, that he shouldn't have been eavesdropping. "Tell him to come and visit!" he suggests, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I miss Uncle Robin's visits! It feels like I haven't seen him in ages!"_

 _"We could see him all the time if not for you!" his mother shrieks, getting to her feet so quickly that her chair falls over backwards. The boy tries to steady it for her. He doesn't want to let it hit the ground and break, because he knows how much his parents hate things breaking. He's quick enough to reach it and he knows his parents aren't, and even though they're both shouting at him to stop, he wants to help so he tries anyway and this time it's going to be fine – but it isn't fine, and the chair becomes cubes of plywood in his hand._

 _"SEE?" she bellows. "We could have been a normal family! But you break everything! YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!"_

 _"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to – I'm trying to make it stop!"_

 _"TRY HARDER!" She seizes a plate from the table and throws it. It hits the wall several feet away from him and shatters, and he stares at it in shock. It's the first plate that he hasn't broken himself, but that doesn't matter, because it's as much his fault as all the ones before and he doesn't need to hear her words to know it._

 _Not that that stops her from shouting them. "All the other children in the village are normal! All of them! And then there's_ you! _Why is my child the only one who's broken?"_

 _"I don't know- I'm sorry-"_

 _"We were happy before you came along! WE WERE HAPPY!"_

 _His father watches and says nothing. He doesn't stop her as she reaches for a second plate. With bloodshot eyes and shaking hands her aim should be far worse than before, yet this time, the grid of white lines that materializes around his body and slices through the plate like wire-thin lasers is the only thing that saves him from harm._

 _Shards sink into the door, but he's already running. He always runs when things get this bad; when it's not just stray sparks but horrible, persistent, hateful light blazing around his hands. He goes straight to the basement. There's nothing here to destroy. All the boxes were shredded long ago; the spiders have learnt to flee at the sound of his footsteps. Surrounded by dust and damp and mould, he stares at the rippling patterns of that seething light upon the walls, and he whispers, "Why am I so broken?"_

 _Through the battered basement door, he can hear his mother sobbing._

 _It's all his fault._

 _That's why he cries._

* * *

 _It happens all the time, now. Sometimes she throws things: crockery, beer bottles, the rocks and the debris left in the wake of his magic. Sometimes it's a chair leg or a broom. Sometimes there are no weapons to hand, and she slaps him or kicks him or pushes him, stopping only when her hands are dripping blood from hundreds of tiny crisscrossed cuts._

 _She calls him a monster. She calls him a devil-child. She calls him the reason why she has no life, no money, no friends. She calls him the one who ruined her happy marriage; her promised future. She never did anything but care for him and this is what she gets in return._

 _She says she tried being patient with him, and it only got worse. She says she has no choice but to take direct action. She'll teach him what happens if he keeps refusing to stop his power. She'll beat that demon out of him. Then he'll be a good child; a normal child; the child she should have had; the child she deserved. It doesn't matter if it takes force, because she'll have her life back._

 _She hits him every time the two of them are alone in the house. That's most of the time, now. His father leaves early and returns late_ _–_ _too late for his job to fully explain. He doesn't want anything to do with his son. She hits him for that, too._

 _And that's okay, because everything she says is the truth. It's all his fault. He causes problems for everyone. He hates his power, and he hates that he can't stop it. He hates himself._

 _"Please, stop," he whimpers. "Please. Stop it."_

 _But it's not her he pleads with. It's the light crawling over his hands, the light which never goes away any more, and he begs it not to hurt her even as she is hurting him._

* * *

 _"This is our chance," his mother says, wringing her scarred and wasted hands. "New neighbours. People who don't know about_ him. _People who I can talk to normally- have a normal relationship with-"_

 _She sounds quite mad, and he doesn't really understand, but he's resolved to be on his best behaviour for their guest regardless; to keep the light wrapped like barbed wire around his fingers firmly under control. It lasts until the doorbell rings and his father drags him from the kitchen. Then, he can't stop his power from lashing out, from cutting deep and drawing blood, even as he's shoved towards the stairs._

 _"Up," hisses his father. "To your room. Make a sound, and you won't eat for a week."_

 _A terrified nod, and then he's in his bedroom and he hears the key clicking in the lock. He's up here because yesterday the basement finally surrendered to the unintentional beating it had taken from its prisoner over time, and half the ceiling collapsed. His parents dragged a tarpaulin across the hole in the living room floor; got their cover story about home renovations straight. It was only afterwards that they ventured down the stairs to see if his power had saved his life as well as damaging their home._

 _With that no longer usable, he's once again in his old bedroom. There's nothing here but the sheets he's been using to sleep in upon the floor, and some old bits of pipe whose purpose he can no longer remember. He curls up into a ball, watching the sparks from his feet eat slowly away at the bedsheet, and because there's nothing else to do, he listens._

 _"_ … _afternoon! I'm Liz, your new neighbour! Oh, and this is Maxi; the girls are out exploring the village and I couldn't just leave him on his own in a new house. Don't worry, he's fully house-trained…"_

 _He pushes the singed sheet away half-heartedly, but when cracks begin to appear in the floor instead, he pulls it back towards him, wrapping it around himself and feeling utterly miserable._

 _"_ … _couldn't believe how cheap this place was! Such a great location! The previous owners seemed so desperate to sell; we couldn't believe our luck! I was terrified it was going to be haunted, or that the neighbours were dreadful or something, but you two are lovely and I haven't met any ghosts yet!"_

 _His father laughs nervously; his mother doesn't manage anything at all. That's when he stops listening to their conversation, though, because he can hear something scrabbling at the far side of his door. And panting. And growling a canine growl._

 _He scrambles to his feet and presses his eye to the keyhole. There's a dog outside the door. A little one, with droopy chocolate ears and a white belly. It's sniffing at the base of the door, and when he drops back down to the ground, he can see its cute nose blocking out the light. He wants to open the door and cuddle it so badly. There's nothing stopping him – his power has already broken the lock through that one brief contact. But he_ did _promise he would stay here, and that he wouldn't make a sound…_

 _The animal loses interest in the closed door and wanders away. It's probably for the best, he knows that, but-_

 _"No, no, no!" he whispers, pushing open the door. He stays low to the ground, creeping along on all fours, and he scoops up the strange dog before it can nose open the door at the end of the corridor. "That's mummy and daddy's room! You can't go in there! I'm not allowed in there, so you're_ definitely _not allowed!"_

 _The dog wriggles in his arms and licks his nose. He beams at it – then seems to remember where he is all at once. He shuffles back down the corridor, gently shooing the dog along ahead of him. "You can come in my room, with me," he assures it. "What are you doing here, anyway? Did you wander into the house? Are you on your own? Oh, have you been abandoned? That's okay! You can come and live here with me!"_

 _The dog yelps in agreement, and he freezes, glancing towards the stairs. There's no pause in the conversation from below, however, and he thinks they might have got away with it. He's about to carry on when the words he overhears give him pause._

 _"_ … _Elise is twelve, and Lottie is nine. How about you? Got any kids?"_

 _"No," says his mother. "It's just the two of us here."_

 _"Oh, right! Sorry, it's just that I saw the toys on the windowsill and thought you must have had a little boy-"_

 _"No, they're my nephew's. He's always leaving his things here-"_

 _Another animal yelp. Louder, this time. Hurt. He glances down to find that he's gripping his canine friend far too tightly – and worse, far worse, there are lines of light spreading across its fur._

 _"I'm sorry!" he gasps, pushing the dog out of his arms and stumbling backwards. "I didn't mean to… I'm really sorry…" At its black and baleful look, he sighs. "I don't think I can adopt you after all. I'll just end up hurting you. I think it would be better if you just wandered back to wherever you came from… you don't want to be around me. No, go on."_

 _Vainly, he shoos the dog towards the stairs. After a disinterested glance, it proceeds to ignore both him and the stairs in favour of the forbidden temptation that is his parents' bedroom._

 _"No, you really mustn't!" he whispers. "If you go in there you'll probably break something and they_ really _don't like it when that happens… I mean it!"_

 _As the dog nudges the door open, he leaps forwards, grabbing it before it can go any further. It flinches and snaps at him – and that's when he loses his balance. He reaches in slow-motion for the banister, but white light flashes and it breaks off in his hand. He's falling now, with the terrified dog held close to his chest; tumbling head over heels down stairs which explode when he hits them and shake what remains of the house to its foundations-_

 _He lands flat on his back. He's unharmed; the same can't be said for the stairs, which will never be used again. He doesn't care about himself or the house, though – he only cares about the dog, which is standing on his chest, yapping madly in time to its frantic metronome of a tail. "You're alright!" he beams at it._

 _There are footsteps in the settling dust. Tilting his head awkwardly, he can see three figures approaching. One is in a state of terrified disbelief; that's an expression he has seen remarkably often in his short life. The other two look apoplectic. He's seen that often too. Perhaps he's so accustomed to it that he doesn't pay it as much heed as he should._

 _"Mummy, look! I found a dog! I think he might have been abandoned – can we keep him? Please?"_

 _She's staring at him. Her mouth forms silent words, and he doesn't think any of them are 'yes'._

 _"Oh!" he exclaims, rolling over and sitting up to address the woman he doesn't recognize, the dog lolling contentedly in his lap. "Is this your dog? I'm so sorry! He was wandering round on his own so I just assumed he had no owner! You can have him back if he's yours!"_

 _"What… what the hell_ is _he?" she breathes._

 _He blinks. "A dog. Isn't he?"_

 _"I TOLD YOU TO STAY UPSTAIRS!" his mother howls. "WHY CAN'T YOU DO ONE THING RIGHT? ONE THING! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING?"_

 _"I only wanted to stop him from- I'm sorry- I didn't mean to ruin anything-"_

 _It's the thousandth time he's said those words, and he means them just as much as he did the first time, but they have become less and less meaningful to the listener with every iteration, and in the frustration and the terror and the madness of the moment, it all becomes too much. She kicks him viciously in the side. Their guest cries out, and so does he._

 _Maybe it's the pain, or maybe it's the shock, but any control he might have had over the white light snaps in that moment. It streaks out from him, that blind devastation, and it will level buildings and lash out at passers-by but the closest thing is always the first target, and the closest thing to him right now is the little dog sat in his lap- the one he thought he'd managed to protect-_

 _There's blood running down his front, dripping from his hands. He screams and screams and screams, but it can't change what has happened; what he's done. He doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to think. And the magic that has brought him to this precipice finally grants his wish, and the world dissolves into white silence._

* * *

 _After that, he remembers very little._

 _There's a building, and it's so unlike anything in the village that he doesn't know if it's real or just another nightmare. Someone has stolen the crescent moon from the sky and imprisoned it within iron scaffolding, and it's populated by men who wear cloth masks, perhaps because they have the faces of demons._ _"You have to take him off our hands!" a voice is screaming. "It's your job! IT'S WHAT YOU'RE HERE FOR!"_ _But the demons slam the door in their faces. It closes with a hiss of pistons and a near-inaudible click, but it's a slam all the same._

 _The demons give them sedatives to use on him, though – one small mercy offered to two of their own – and after that, his memories are even more disjointed. Uncle Robin is there, and he cries out for him because Uncle Robin has always been kinder than anyone else, but the world is tugged away again before any response comes. It returns just long enough for him to see the ceiling collapsing and the screams and the blood as the two people who raised him are crushed in front of his eyes, his most lucid moment the one he wanted to see the least. It's an accident, but he's too far gone to accept that; far too far gone._

 _The night is dark, now. Too dark for him to make out anything except a glowing barrier that he can't destroy. It's mocking him, too little too late, and it only brings back the memories and the pain and the white until he succumbs to it again. It's still there when he returns to this world. The colour of the sky is wrong – through the barrier, everything is gold – but he is seeing more clearly than he has in a while. The strangers do not look like demons this time, but perhaps they ought to, because they are just as cruel. They throw him onto the island and then they are gone._

 _He's alone. He's been alone before, but never like this. Never with more than a door and a wall between him and his family. Never without hope._

 _But he's_ not _alone, is he?_

 _There's someone else upon this lonely island. He's strange, and he's quiet, and he's more than a little intimidating, but he never yells, even when things are destroyed. When there are problems, he doesn't get angry about them – he tries to come up with ways around them. He seems to understand that there's no way to make the magic stop, and he treats it as an issue for them to tackle together, rather than a problem that is entirely his fault._

 _Most importantly, though, he never pushes him away. Not when he's busy, not when he's tired, and not even when the magic is going out of control and there's danger everywhere. He is kind. Being with him feels safe, like his house used to feel in a time almost forgotten._

 _Yesterday, he would have said with conviction that he was going to be alone forever, isolated by a power that would hurt and kill everyone who came close to him. He still doesn't know if his dangerous magic will ever be fixed, but for the first time in as long as he can remember, he has hope that it might._

 _He met a man who understands, and sometimes that makes all the difference._


	5. An Unruly Power

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Five – An Unruly Power**

"Well," said Zeref, at last. "It's easy to see what your problem is. Solving it, however, will be another matter entirely."

Gildarts wasn't a born storyteller, and his account of his life had been delivered entirely out of order, jumping between the events he considered important in accordance with the unpredictable wandering of his thoughts. The full narrative had required no small amount of piecing together on Zeref's part. The intense and tragic nature of many of his memories made the telling even harder; the boy had cried several times while recounting his story, and his companion had not offered a single word of comfort.

Indeed, Zeref seemed to care far more about the runes he was carving into his staff than anything the boy had to say. Yet for once, his silence had nothing to do with apathy. This entire affair was a few thousand miles outside his comfort zone, and in case that didn't make knowing what to say difficult enough, he was gripped by an anger that manifested as ever-deeper cuts and uncharacteristically rough rune work.

He knew, logically, that there was no point blaming the boy's parents. They had been scared. They hadn't known what to do about their son's power. They knew nothing of magic, and even if they'd lived in a city where mages and guilds were commonplace, the boy's condition had been unusual even before their actions had driven it out of control. From a purely technical standpoint, they had no way of knowing that the likely irreversible damage to their son's magic had been entirely their fault.

But the damage to his mental wellbeing and sense of self-worth was another matter entirely, and Zeref suspected that the only thing stopping him from leaving the island at once was the knowledge that not even he could kill someone who was already dead.

However, he allowed none of this to show in his manner or his expression. When he broke the silence to deliver his verdict at the end of the boy's speech, his voice was as calm as ever. That, he thought, was the closest to 'reassuring' that a man like him could get.

The boy left the edge of the sea and ran over to Zeref. He placed his soaked hands upon the other's knees, ignoring the annoyed look this earnt him, and begged, "Tell me what's wrong with me. Why do I break things?"

"Alright, alright." The technical side of the situation, Zeref could handle. That was more his area of expertise.

He patted the rock and the boy jumped up to sit by his side; two unlikely companions looking out to sea. Gildarts placed his hands in his own lap and tried not to fidget. His sand-coated feet didn't quite touch the ground.

Zeref asked, "You don't know much about magic, do you?"

"Only the stories Uncle Robin used to tell me. He said the city he moved to had a mage guild, though I never really got to visit him there…"

"So, before coming to this island, you hadn't met another mage?"

"No… there weren't any in my village."

"I'll start from the beginning, then," Zeref said. "Imagine a cup full to the brim with water. It's fine when left alone, but if you nudge it, it will spill." The boy gave a vigorous nod. "The cup is you, and the water is your magic. Usually, when a mage is just starting out, they don't have nearly enough water in the steady state to fill the cup. You, however, have far more of it than you should, so it's balanced in a highly unstable equilibrium until something happens to disturb it. Anger, loneliness, joy; any strong emotion could do it. It could be a physical disturbance – if you sense danger, or you get hurt, or you walk into something, for example. Or there might be no obvious trigger for it at all. Something as simple as a runaway train of thought could break so delicate a balance.

"What causes it doesn't matter. You can't control your power. You never learnt how. The only thing keeping it inside your body is surface tension, and it's just not enough. The slightest thing disturbs it, and then the water spills; your magic is set loose."

"So… it _is_ a physical problem, then?" The boy's face was creased in concentration as he tried to keep up with the explanation. "Because I have too much magic?"

"No, it's still a psychological problem. You have an awful lot of magic in your body, but you also have a remarkable aptitude for holding it – _just_ enough to contain all of it. If your equilibrium state involved slightly more magic, or you were slightly less capable of holding it, you'd have lived in constant pain and died from it years ago. But yours cancels out as perfectly as I've ever seen in a human being."

"I don't think it's very perfect," Gildarts said, in a quiet voice.

"From a purely theoretical point of view," the other amended, conceding that that hadn't been the most tactful thing to say. "Let me finish. In this analogy, learning control would be like… placing a lid onto the cup of water. For most mages, it's never an issue. There's such a large initial discrepancy between the amount of magic they _have_ and the amount of magic they can _hold_ that there's never a danger of it breaking loose on its own, like yours does. By the time their magic becomes that strong, if ever, they've already developed that control instinctively. Conversely, in the rare instance where one is born with too much magic, control does nothing, because even the sturdiest lid can't seal water inside a container that's physically too small to hold it. In that case, either the cup must be made bigger or the amount of water made smaller – both of which are theoretically possible with the right technology, but as far as I'm aware, no one has ever survived either."

"What about me, then?"

"Well, as I said, you _can_ contain all your magic in your body, which is why you're not dying, but it's such a close-run thing that even the smallest incident can upset the balance. However, as I also said, that isn't what's causing your problem. If it were a purely physical issue like that, it would only produce small effects. You might occasionally emit sparks of pure energy, for example, or given the nature of your magic, you might put little cracks in the things you touch – but not enough to break something and certainly not enough to hurt another human being. And that's exactly what happened when your magic first started to appear, isn't it? Your physical situation explains your early childhood perfectly. What your physical situation _doesn't_ explain is why your magic now explodes out of your body at every possible opportunity with enough force to level a building."

"So… why is that happening?"

Zeref looked him dead in the eye and said, simply: "Fear."

"What?"

"You're scared of your magic. This is the power that hurts people. This is the reason why you've never had any friends; why your father locked you in the basement and your mother hit you; why the other villagers shunned you and drove you out. This is what destroyed your house and killed your family, such as it was. This is the cause of all the bad things in your life – and you can't do a thing about it. You sense your power starting to break loose, and it terrifies you, because you know you're going to hurt more people. Everyone you love will die by your own hand and you'll be left all alone. You feel all that, and you are so, _so_ scared."

He raised his hand and punctuated this last phrase with three sharp jabs to the boy's heart. Gildarts was shaking, but he could not back away; could not even blink. In those frightened yet comprehending eyes Zeref found a wordless confirmation of his hypothesis.

"Your magic isn't trying to hurt you," he continued. "It's trying to _protect_ you; it just doesn't know how. Destruction is all it understands, so that's what it does. It senses your terror and tries to protect you from it in the only way it can: by destroying everything around you that could possibly pose a threat to you. You see this start to happen, and you become more afraid, which makes your power stronger, which scares you more, and it builds and builds until there's nothing left in your vicinity for it to destroy, or until you've used so much power that it's no longer capable of breaking free on its own. You're the reason why all this is happening."

"I'm…" Tears prickled in the corners of the boy's eyes, but he bit his lip and give his head a quick shake. "So, what can I do about it? Do I need to stop being… scared?"

The hesitant way in which the boy asked showed that even he could tell how unfeasible that sounded, yet that wasn't why the other shook his head. "That's not a good idea. There's nothing wrong with fear. Your problem is that you have a messed-up concept of it. You're not scared of me at all, though there are any number of reasons why you should be – not least because someone should have taught you not to talk to strangers. Conversely, you're terrified of yourself, and there's no reason for that at all."

"So… what _should_ I do?"

Zeref shrugged. "How should I know?"

"…Eh?"

"I don't know how to solve your problems. Overcoming an irrational fear of yourself so deeply ingrained that it causes natural disasters? I wouldn't even know where to start. Psychiatrists go through years of training before anyone makes them do this sort of thing, you know."

"But… you said that you would help…"

"Well… I was sort of hoping Mavis would come up with some good ideas, but she's letting me down."

"Maybe she's not here," the boy suggested doubtfully.

"That would be infuriatingly unhelpful of her, so you're probably right."

He didn't say anything for a while, and Gildarts shuffled awkwardly. Fine white cracks started to creep from his palms into the rock they were sat on. They were slow at first, a curious exploration of their surroundings, but as soon as he noticed them, he remembered everything he had been told about his runaway magic, and he panicked. The boulder shattered at once. He fell with a yelp, landing flat on his back and throwing up a little cloud of sand.

Zeref caught himself easily and remained on his feet, looking down at the boy from above; a shadowy silhouette against the sun. Rather than snapping at him, however, he remarked, "You panicked, didn't you?" The boy nodded timidly. "Yes, I had a feeling that making you aware of the problem would only make it worse."

"So… I'm going to be stuck like this forever, then?"

That dark gaze left the boy's prone form and turned pensively out to sea. "I don't know how to fix your underlying problem, kid. That's not the sort of thing I'm good at, and even if it was, it's likely that the only person who'll be able to do anything about it is you. But… there might be things I can do to help. There are methods by which, if you can learn them, you might be able to restrain your power when it's trying to go out of control."

"Can you teach me?" Gildarts inquired, scrambling to his feet to clutch at this new glimmer of hope.

"I can try. I can't promise it'll work, though. I've seen plenty of young mages who have struggled to make their magic do what they want, but I've never encountered a case as extreme as yours before." He closed his eyes and thought for a minute, while the boy waited with unusual patience – which for him still meant bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, but keeping his mouth shut while he did it. "Right. We'll try visualization first. It's not a method I've ever seen much merit in, but people have been using it to teach young children magic since the beginning of recorded time, so it might be worth a shot… Essentially, it involves the use of mental images rather than direct intent to control magic, which is supposedly more instinctive for children than grasping the entirely new sensation of the magic itself."

"What do I have to do?"

"When you feel your magic going out of control, you first need to stay calm – which I appreciate is a tricky thing in and of itself, but you'll need to concentrate on what to do rather than worrying about what's going on around you. Now, let's focus on your arm first."

He held his right arm out in front of him, and Gildarts copied him, as if to hail a passing motorboat.

"Now, the trick to control through visualization is to imagine some sort of barrier around your arm that your magic can't break through. What it looks like doesn't matter; you just have to picture something solid for your magic to hit and bounce off. If you do it right, you should find that your power, no matter what form it takes, is confined to the area within the imaginary barrier. Then, what you'd normally do is work on reducing the size of the barrier until it is at the level of your skin, at which point the magic would remain theoretically sealed within your body… by that point, though, you should be so used to the feeling of control that it will come automatically to you, without the need for visual tools. Can you do that?"

"I think so!" the boy chirped. "I just imagine something around my arm, right?"

"Right."

"Anything I want?"

"That's what I said."

"So, like… a big red balloon?"

"Sure."

"How about an igloo?"

"Whatever works for you, kid."

Gildarts screwed his eyes shut in concentration. "Okay, now what?"

"Now…" Zeref scanned the beach until his eyes fell upon a lump of seaweed-laced stone, which he hefted in one hand. Then, without warning, he pivoted on one foot and hurled the stone straight towards the boy.

The boy didn't notice the incoming missile, but his magic did. A grid of white lines sprung up around his arm and disintegrated the rock before it could hit him. He yelped at the unexpected surge of power, his eyes flying open, and then surprise became panic as the vicious cracks of his magic continued to streak out from his body, churning up the sand and forcing Zeref to take several hasty steps backwards before it could do the same to him.

At last it came to an end, and the boy was left shivering and gasping for breath. His first act was to glance around for his companion, and upon seeing that he had been out of the danger zone, he sighed in relief and offered him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. The igloo broke."

"So I gathered. Well, it's the sort of thing that takes practice. Let's try it again."

"Okay!" Enthusiasm only slightly diminished by his failure, the boy raised his arm again, adopting a comical fighting pose. "Maybe I'll imagine something bigger this time. How about an ice castle? It could have towers and battlements and everything! Though I'd have to put my arm through one of the windows, because it would have a drawbridge at the front!"

"I think you're somewhat missing the point of the exercise, kid…"

As Zeref suspected, the imaginary ice castle proved no better at restraining wild magic than the igloo. This attempt ended with the boy lying on the floor and spitting out sand, significantly more put out than before.

His next try also ended in failure, as did the next, and the next, until tears were blurring his vision and they had both lost track of how many times his magic had gone out of control. The more upset he became, the less control he had over his rampaging power. He had reached the point where Zeref no longer needed to trigger his magic to appear – his distress was doing that all by itself.

And yet he had made no progress. None at all. The feral magic that seared across the beach – and, as was increasingly the case as it strengthened with despair, tore through Zeref's body too – hadn't altered in the slightest. It had neither slowed nor softened, nor had it become any less _improper_ to his magical senses.

There wasn't much point in continuing when the boy's mood was this low, Zeref _knew_ that, but there was even less value in stopping when they had achieved absolutely nothing. Another surge of energy managed to cut raw lines across his palm before he could jerk his hand away, and the pain got the better of him. "You're not even trying any more!" he snapped.

The boy's eyes had already been swimming with tears, and at that they grew even more distraught. If not for the fact that his magic was now experiencing a few seconds of remission after every outburst, a result of the depletion of his internal power reserves, Zeref would have paid for that lapse in emotional calm with another intense burst of pain.

"I _am_ trying! It's just… everything breaks! I _know_ that I break everything, so… so everything I can imagine always breaks in my mind!"

Zeref grimaced. It was a genuine problem with any method that relied on imagination – a factor far more limited than was often assumed – but unless he could come up with a better idea, they'd have to stick with it. "There are things that your magic can't break, though, aren't there?"

"Like what?"

"Well… what about the sea? When you try to break that up, it just flows back together and pushes against you. A fluid barrier like that might work."

"It might, but… I don't think I could imagine it right."

"Hmm. You told me that the people who brought you to the island did so by creating a barrier that you couldn't destroy, right? You already know that can suppress your power, so if you focus on what that felt like…"

"I could try," the boy said dubiously. "It felt kind of funny, though. I don't really remember it."

"Give it a go."

"Okay…"

Approaching a task like this pessimistically was the one way to guarantee failure, and the boy's mood was already so low that Zeref was not the least bit surprised when the immediate eruption of energy was fiercer, wilder, and even more violent than before. Zeref snarled in sheer frustration.

Unfortunately, the boy heard. Heard – and understood it perfectly. He wasn't just failing to make progress; he was letting down the only person who believed in him. He was going to be abandoned again.

That thought snapped whatever last thread of calmness he had been clinging to. He let out a shriek of terror. His eyes flared open, pupils fully dilated; Zeref did not need to be a real therapist to recognize the signs of the boy descending into a full-blown panic attack. Power surged across the beach with the savagery of escaped lightning – and then Zeref wasn't thinking about the boy any more, because there was only one thing upon which the magic could take out its righteous rage, and that was him.

Magic fuelled by years of terror and self-loathing sought peace for its wielder by annihilating anything that could possibly further his grief. Despair called it forth and desperation released its restraints. It slashed as blades beneath his skin; drew razor wire through his veins; shattered his ribs in a single wave of force. He could feel his lungs filling with blood. He tried to breathe and couldn't; he tried to cry out and couldn't. There was nothing in the universe except pain and panic as his body screamed at him, _you're dying, you're dying, you're dying-_

 _I'm not,_ he told himself grimly.

But no matter how many times it happened, his body still had no means of processing lethal damage except with that one frightful certainty. It could not comprehend that drowned lungs were unharmed, or that torn flesh was whole, or that the blissful darkness was refusing to take him into its embrace. Without a source, the pain became confused; there because it felt it ought to be rather than because some wound had ordered it.

Dying – or, rather, _not dying_ – never became any easier.

And as the agony of the door that was still closed to him faded, and the only terror remaining was that in the boy's frantic cries, something cleaved at last through the numbness of death: a bright and vital viciousness. To pay back the one who had hurt him a hundredfold. To cast off his empathy and all the pain that came with it, and let selfish desire guide his hand once again. To defy the world which had rejected him and punished him, and then thrust this frustrating child upon him and expected him to be kind.

How many times would he have to kill the boy to overcome the Tenrou Tree's protection? About as many times as the boy's power should have killed him today, he reckoned, and that thought induced a cold and hungry glee, for every fatal strike would soothe the raging pain within him a little more-

But he was better than that, wasn't he?

He tried to push that argument aside, but it was faster than his fury, leading to another thought and then another before he could catch and suppress it. The boy's mother had hit him because she hadn't understood what was happening, and yet he understood perfectly, and he _knew_ it wasn't the boy's fault. She had feared the boy, and with good reason: it would only take one surge of power at the wrong time to end her life. He didn't even have that excuse. He was better than this.

The pain had all but vanished now. He could never remember quite what it felt like to die after the fact – he suspected it was necessary to preserve his sanity – and as his memory of that horrifying moment of being and not being all at once passed into the land of half-lost dreams, it took with it that urge to lash out. The reality of the world slowly returned to him; he was on his hands and knees upon the sand.

Through that exhaustion, he heard the boy's cry. "Are you okay? Please… please tell me you're okay…"

There was heartbreak in his voice, and, hearing it, Zeref could not even comprehend wanting to hurt him. He felt instead an equally irrational and far more dangerous urge to hold him close, and he was grateful that the lethargy saturating his limbs made such a preposterous action impossible. Emotions always ran fierce on the border of life and death.

"I'm okay," he said, appreciating too late that the raw red marks he could see crisscrossing his hands – and most likely the rest of his skin as well – would betray any attempt at stoicism.

"You're hurt, aren't you?" Gildarts exclaimed. "I _am_ hurting you!"

"Of course you're hurting me," Zeref sighed. "Your power is trying to tear my body apart, and when it goes all-out like that, even I have no way of stopping it directly." The raw strength of the boy's magic was unbelievable. Maybe the constant cycle of suppression and explosion had raised it to this level, or maybe it was nothing more than a coincidence of birth, but Zeref could count on one hand the number of grown adults he knew with access to so much power. If he could learn to control it, he'd be a truly exceptional mage.

"I'm sorry," the boy blurted out. "I didn't know it hurt so much. You always said it didn't. I'm sorry… I wouldn't have stayed with you if I'd known…"

Pushing himself to his feet, Zeref rubbed at the marks on his arm and grimaced. "It's fine. It's not like it does any lasting damage to me. These marks will disappear in a minute."

"But…" sniffed the boy. "But even though you got hurt, I still couldn't do it…"

It had been a whole afternoon of struggle, pain, and not-quite-dying, and not even the most encouraging teacher could have found anything in it to call progress. The boy's control remained non-existent. His morale was lower than it had been when they started, and his magic had only grown more volatile, more aggressive, and more powerful as a result.

No progress.

Nothing.

Zeref sighed once again, and there was a softness to his voice that had not been present before. "Well, I did warn you that I didn't have much faith in a method like that. Let's call it a day. We'll go and find something to eat before it gets dark, okay?"

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, leaving traces of mud on his cheek in the process, the boy nodded.

Yet Zeref hadn't taken more than a single step towards the forest when he felt a sharp tug pulling him back – the boy had grabbed the back of his robes. "What is it, kid?"

With his gaze fixed on Zeref's feet, the boy whispered, "Thank you for not getting mad at me."

"…Come on. It's a long way back to the camp."

As the other pulled away from him, Gildarts looked up, startled – and when he ran to catch up, there was a tremulous smile on his face.

* * *

Perhaps it was a sign of his gratitude, or perhaps it was a result of the exhaustion brought on by grappling with his unruly magic all afternoon, but Gildarts was surprisingly – thankfully – quiet for the rest of the evening. Twilight enveloped the island, and they were on their way back to their makeshift camp after eating when the boy caught sight of a pair of large crimson birds watching them from a nearby tree. He said nothing, but it was clear what was going through his mind from the way he clung to his companion's arm and was practically trying to bury his face into his side as they walked. He did not want to look at them. He did not want to relive the horror of what he'd done.

It made their journey through the forest more like an awkward three-legged race than a walk, but after what the boy had been through that day, Zeref let it slide. It would have been far more dangerous, however, to ignore the thin white cracks crawling into his body from where the boy clutched at him, and so rather than going straight to the camp, he led them on a slight detour.

The boy didn't notice that their destination had changed until they emerged from the thinning trees and out onto a meadow that led right to the edge of a cliff. At the sight, he froze at once. "This isn't our camp," he said suspiciously.

"We're taking the long way round."

This only made the boy dig his heels in deeper. "You're going to throw me in the sea again, aren't you?"

"Might be."

He glanced at the edge of the cliff and folded his arms defiantly. "I don't wanna go in the sea."

"I don't care what you want."

Unimpressed old eyes met indignant young ones, each daring the other to back down. The boy looked ready to sprint back to the safety of the trees at any moment. Rather than trying to order him, and risking turning this into an island-wide chase, Zeref just shrugged and changed approach with an adult's easy patience. "Suit yourself. Of course, there's no way I'm letting you inside my shiny new tent if there's any chance you're going to break it during the night."

"It's not your tent," Gildarts sulked. "It's mine."

"You can have it if you want, but since only I know how to activate it with magic, it won't do you much good, will it?"

"Well…"

"Not to mention, you're not sleeping anywhere near me if you're going to keep exploding all night. I've had quite enough of that this afternoon. So, if you'd rather spend the night out in the dark forest with all the monsters than in the safe warm tent with me, then by all means, don't go in the sea."

After processing his options for an agonizing minute, the boy pulled a face and shuffled towards the cliff. "Okay, fine, but don't push me." He glanced over the edge and swallowed audibly. There was another long pause. "It's quite a long way down, really, isn't it?"

"Sure, but it's not dangerous. Not to you. Your magic will deconstruct the water's surface – or any rocks down there – instantaneously, minimizing the falling damage. Not to mention how tough simply possessing such a ridiculous amount of magic power makes your tiny little body."

"Yeah, but… even if you're right-"

"I _am_ right."

"-we're _so_ high up…"

The silence was a good indication of how much the other cared.

Disheartened, the boy eyed the water below once more. The stars were out in all their glory, and their silvery light scattered from the ocean and cast ghostly waves upon the cliff, making it difficult to tell where the fall ended and the dreaming depths began. "You know," he ventured, "I think maybe I'll sleep-"

That was when Zeref lost patience and gave him a quick shove. The boy's sentence ended with a wordless wail, followed by a plop and a subsequent enormous burst of water.

Like the previous time, Zeref wandered down to the beach and waited for the explosions to die down. Unlike the previous time, however, the boy was left floating on his back, and he didn't appear to be moving. The rather resentful Black Mage had to wade out into the shallows to retrieve him. Any guilt he may have felt about deliberately putting the boy through another near-death experience was more than drowned out by the suffering he himself had undergone on the receiving end of the boy's magic.

Zeref wasn't overly pleased about having to carry the unconscious boy back to their campsite, but he did it nonetheless, and without cursing Mavis out loud either. Halfway through the journey, the boy woke up, shaking violently from the cold. As soon as they reached the campsite, Zeref made him change into dry clothes, but he was still shivering when they both crawled into the tent.

Their temporary home was easily big enough for the two of them, but it was little more than a grey-green shell inside – all the expense had gone on the protective spells woven into the canvas. With its lacrima broken, it would only hold its form while Zeref was sending it power from his own body, and it had been so long since he'd had to actively _do_ anything with his magic that he wondered if he'd be able to keep it up while asleep… and no sooner had the thought occurred to him than ideas were starting to form in the back of his mind; springing like tiny green shoots from a wasteland which decades of enforced inactivity had failed to render barren.

Still, maybe he'd save the experimenting for when the boy was asleep. He sat next to the sealed tent flap with the wires wrapped around his hand, while the boy snuggled down and tried to make himself as warm as possible.

The silence that Zeref had been looking forward to all day lasted for about ten seconds before the boy piped up, "Is it just me, or did it get warmer in here?"

"There are spells on the tent which regulate its internal temperature. It's a simple matter for me to manipulate them to make it warmer."

"That is _so_ cool."

Zeref blinked; he had been expecting gratitude, not awe. "It… really isn't."

An emphatic rustling came from the sleeping bag as the boy nodded fiercely. "It is! I was all cold before, and now I'm toasty. You can do _amazing_ magic."

"Kid…" He shook his head in disbelief. "Firstly, the tent is the one doing the magic, not me. I'm just tweaking it a little. And it's not clever or difficult or rare – literally any mage who has bothered to pick up a book on the theory of environmental magic would be able to do this. And secondly… even if it was all of those things, this is about the most trivial piece of magic I have ever done in my life! I can't even comprehend being told it's amazing by a kid with a power for which most grown mages would give their right arm!"

"I'd happily swap with them," murmured the boy. "I'd much rather be able to make things warm than destroy them. That would have been so useful when I was in the basement. Or maybe, if I had that power, I'd never have had to go in the basement in the first place."

"…Kid, you have an incredible gift! I know it's causing you problems right now, but do you not have any idea what it means to possess magic as strong as yours? Or what you'll be able to do if you can learn to control it?"

"It means that I destroy everything. That I hurt the people who are kind to me and the animals who want to be my friends. I ruin all the things I touch and make life difficult for everyone around me. I wish I could just make it go away."

Zeref did not respond to that; the argument came to an end in sudden silence. For the boy, it did not feel like victory. He rolled over, uncomfortable, and found that his companion was staring at him so intently that he had to look down to check that there wasn't a hole being burnt through him.

"Oh," Zeref breathed. And then, again: " _Oh._ "

"…What is it?"

"You've just given me an idea."

"Okay." But when the other didn't say anything else, he ventured, "Should… should I be worried?"

Zeref considered this for a moment. "Well, I'd be lying if I said my good ideas have never caused problems for those around me… so I suppose we'll have to see."

It wasn't quite the reassurance that the boy had been hoping for, and he burrowed back down inside his sleeping bag, hiding away from that piercing gaze. Zeref hardly noticed. He was feeling both very smug and very stupid – smug, because that was the answer he had been looking for all afternoon; stupid, because it should never have taken him so long to reach it. It really wasn't the sort of thing he was good at, but what excuse was that, when the answer was so damn obvious?

No wonder nothing he'd suggested had worked. He'd been going about it all wrong. He'd been so convinced that he couldn't help others – that he couldn't empathize enough with anyone else to do so – that he'd automatically tried to separate the technical issues of the boy's magic from the personal, psychological ones, but of course they were inextricably linked. One couldn't be fixed without the other. And he had a pretty good idea of how to go about addressing both at once.

As night fell, he played around with the tent's magic a little more, but he wasn't, this time, trying to improve their living conditions. This was the kind of complicated magic that the boy would never be able to appreciate, but which Zeref had always been exceptionally good at: building, creating, devising; finding the limits of magic and pushing them further than anyone before or since.

By the time the boy was sound asleep he had established a feedback loop within the tent's magical circuit. Once he'd filled it with energy, it would power the tent for several minutes without him needing to do it directly. That done, he crept out of the tent on hands and knees, pausing only to check that the boy had not awoken, and slipped out into the forest to begin preparations.

To hell with not getting involved.

It didn't matter if it was Acnologia, human mortality, or some kid's out-of-control magic. You didn't stick a puzzle in front of the great Black Mage and expect him not to have a bloody good go at solving it.

Mavis knew him far too well.


	6. An Unassuming Saviour

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Six – An Unassuming Saviour**

This was the second morning in a row upon which Zeref had been rudely awoken by another person. The first time, Gildarts had been worried; the second, he seemed more impatient than anything else, repeatedly jabbing his shoulder and insisting, "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

Grunting something unintelligible, Zeref glared at the boy through half-shut eyes until the jabbing ceased. "What is it?" he sighed. Even the infamous Black Mage found it difficult to come across as fearsome when he was still mostly asleep.

The boy stepped back and put his hands on his hips. "You sleep too much."

"Not my fault," Zeref grunted. "My body's stuck at a difficult age. It doesn't handle mornings very well."

"…You're weird." The boy disappeared through the tent flap and was back before the burst of sunlight had faded from Zeref's vision, depositing an armful of lumpy objects into the unfortunate Black Mage's lap. "I went and found some stuff for breakfast. You gotta tell me which ones are safe to eat."

"…Alright, alright." Zeref stared at the bizarre assortment of fruits in his lap, trying to recall just where in his vast and sophisticated mindscape he had filed his godforsaken agricultural knowledge. "These are fine," he began, picking out two of the green melon-like fruits that had been yesterday's breakfast. "These purple ones are edible if you peel the skin. They're citrus fruits – you know, like oranges. The red berries… not sure. I'd need to see the bush you got them from. Don't eat them until I've tried them. The black ones are fine, though. And these… are they sweet potatoes? I didn't know they grew on the island."

"I was chasing a giant mole when it disappeared into a hole," he declared proudly. "I fell down after it, and I saw the potatoes sticking out of the ceiling. I thought I should bring them back to the surface rather than follow the mole and get lost."

"Very sensible of you. I don't think we'd want to eat these raw for breakfast, but still, I'm surprised you knew what they were."

"They're my favourites! When I used to go shopping with mummy, she'd let me pick something that the village farmers grew, and then… then she'd cook it for me…"

Zeref groaned inwardly as the boy's mood took a nosedive. As much as he disliked inane cheeriness first thing in the morning, he enjoyed despair-fuelled surges of violent magic even less. How was he supposed to keep track of everything that might trigger distressing memories? And how on earth was he supposed to know what to do about it? People were frustrating at the best of times. For children, that only went double.

"Right," he tried. "If you like them, I'll hold onto them and try to come up with a way of cooking them for tonight, okay?"

That seemed to do the trick. The boy's eyes returned at once to their prior luminosity. "Really?"

"Sure. I'll work something out."

"Awesome!"

Setting the sweet potatoes aside, he pushed the edible pile towards the boy. "Knock yourself out. Though, if you're going to eat, do it outside." This warning came with a pointed glance towards the floor, where white cracks were beginning to spread from the boy's feet into the canvas. Gildarts grabbed the food and hurried out into the open before any harm could come to the tent.

As blessed silence returned, Zeref felt a strong urge to curl up and go back to sleep, but unaccompanied boy added to unexplored island was a recipe for disaster. After a couple of resentful minutes, he did his best to flatten down his hair and make himself look presentable before heading out of the tent, allowing it collapse back down to its compact state behind him.

Once the boy had eaten, they wandered down to the beach again so that he could practise trying to control his magic. After yesterday's disastrous session, the boy was a little nervous about starting over, but he hadn't complained – partly because he was even _more_ nervous about the mysterious new idea his companion had come up with the night before. But Zeref didn't mention his idea again. He simply found another rock to sit on and resumed work on his carving project while Gildarts began another bout of mental wrestling with his magic.

Sure enough, it only took a few failures for the boy's mood to die completely. Every uncontrolled burst of power added to his growing sense of failure and worthlessness – for he was letting down the only person in the world who still believed in him. Even worse than the fear that his magic might never be fixed was the worry that his companion would lose patience with him, and then he'd be all alone.

If he had been paying attention to anything other than the rampaging power and his own despair, he might have noticed that Zeref didn't care about the lack of progress. In fact, Zeref had started the day's session even more nervous than the boy; he simply hid it beneath centuries of calm control. When the overwhelmed boy burst into tears, and Zeref announced that they were going to take a break and go looking for shells in the rockpools instead, he told himself that he was pandering to the child's anxiousness rather than procrastinating what he knew he needed to do.

But the boy cheered up quickly, as always, and Zeref was out of excuses. When had he started doubting himself so much? It wasn't like him at all. He suspected that he had started to care too much about the outcome – that he was gambling too much on an idea that was seeming more and more ridiculous with every passing minute. It wasn't that he had grown attached to the boy, or so he told himself, but that it was hard to affect disinterestedness in the result of the boy's struggle when it was quite literally the only thing in his life right now.

With an effort, he pushed all such doubts aside. The boy's magic was emotional, not logical. This would work.

By now, the rocky shelf had gained several new holes just waiting to be turned into rockpools when the tide came in, courtesy of Gildarts's magic. The boy still looked dubious about resuming his struggle, so it was unsurprising that he voiced no complaints when Zeref suggested they go for a walk along the shoreline instead.

There wasn't much beach at this side of the island. Away from the rocks and the sand that had become their improvised training ground, cliffs on either side rose sharply out of the sea. They took a winding trail that led to the top of one of these – though Zeref kept them away from the edge, for there was always the possibility that the power leaking out of the boy's feet would destroy any overhangs and send them plummeting into the water below.

The path continued to rise, until the boy could have sworn that they were higher than any point on the island he had seen from the boat. They moved away from the shore and turned inland, and the environment through which they walked became craggy and bare, devoid of the plant life so abundant everywhere else on Tenrou Island.

"This place is kind of cool," Gildarts remarked, examining their unusual surroundings with interest. The rock formations were a dry, earthy orange. Lone stalagmites rose out of the ground; stacks of boulders formed lop-sided towers. To Zeref, they looked as though a giant had carved himself some chess pieces and scattered them in a fit upon losing his first and only game. To the boy, they looked like dragons' teeth – but not in the way that sent one fleeing from whatever had knocked the teeth out of such a beast. Instead, he craned his neck to look at every single thing they passed, in the hope of finding an entire skull. "I've never seen anything like this before. I didn't know there were places like this on the island… or anywhere, in fact."

"Welcome to the world outside the basement," Zeref responded, somewhat dryly.

"Whoa. I bet there are all sorts of cool things hidden here!"

"If I recall correctly, there's an abandoned mine somewhere…"

"Can we-?"

Zeref jumped in with a flat denial. "No. You're not going underground. You'll bury yourself alive, or worse, cause an earthquake that will bring down this entire crag and ruin my island."

"…Oh."

As disappointed as he sounded, the lack of further protests confirmed that the boy had bought his logic. Exploring above ground was enough to satisfy his curiosity for the time being, and he peered into every crack they found in the sun-bleached rock, hoping to find a secret entrance to this mysterious mine. He didn't find one, but he did find _something_ – something with a great scaly tail coiled up like ruby rope, which slithered into the shadows before he could get a good look at it.

He pressed himself closer to his companion, and asked, as casually as he could, "Do monsters live up here?"

"Hmm. Some of the lizards here can grow rather large. They don't eat people, though. Neither do the coyote, usually, although they can be quite bold in a pack."

"Coyote?" the boy echoed, simultaneously clinging to his companion's leg in fear and looking around for a glimpse of one. "I've never seen a coyote before."

"I don't think they still exist on the mainland. But even when they did, they weren't as big as the ones here. They'd easily be big enough for you to ride."

"Whoa. Do you think we could catch one? Are they scary? Do they bite?"

Zeref opened his mouth to explain that he hadn't meant he _should_ ride a coyote when a harrowing screech emerged from the rocks. Echoes resounded back and forth between the crags, and each bounce seemed to bring the rocky walls in closer; a warning that the open plateau was behind them now and there was no such freedom in this ravine.

Both of them stopped in their tracks – the boy because he was struck by sudden fear, and Zeref because the boy was holding onto him so tightly that he had no choice. Normally, Zeref would have tolerated this behaviour, but the white cracks spreading from the boy's fingers had redoubled their efforts to prise his body apart with the onset of fear, so he dislodged him with an effort. Another cry reached their ears: a shrill plea, followed by its ghost, reliving its fleeting life over and over again.

"What was that?" squeaked the boy. "A ghoul?"

"Sounds like one of those birds you like."

The boy's eyes widened. Far from being relieved that it wasn't an undead monster, he gazed up at his companion in sorrow and guilt. Memories of the bird he had caught and accidentally killed flashed through his mind. Quietly, he tried, "I think… I think we should go back to the beach now."

"It sounds like it's in trouble."

"But… I don't…"

 _Come on, kid, I know you're better than this,_ Zeref thought. But there was no point to any of this if he had to force him, so he just gave a shrug. "Well, it's your call. If you want to go back, we'll go back."

The boy stared at him for a long moment, and then took a deep, shuddering breath. There was nothing brave about his trembling words, but he said them anyway: "We'll go and look for it. But, I don't know where…"

Zeref paid this trailing doubt no heed. Now that he had agreement, he led the way deeper into the ravine, which twisted along the path of an extinct river until it came to a sharp end. The twin walls of red-orange rock widened briefly and then converged to a single point directly ahead of them. At the foot of this steep cliff lay a scattering of scree and mismatched boulders, remnants of whichever dynamic event had crashed the earthen walls together, and it was amidst this wreckage that the great crimson-feathered bird waited. It saw them at the same time they saw it, but while they stopped walking at the sight, the bird only fluttered its wings more frantically, raising dry dust into a blood-red shroud.

The boy darted swiftly behind his companion. "Do you think it knows what I did to its friend?" he spoke; a dreadful whisper.

"I think it's probably more worried about itself right now."

No matter how strong the bird's wings, they could not carry it to safety. The fire-like streaks that made up its tail were trapped beneath a boulder as large as the bird itself. It strained with all its might but it could not pull itself free.

As soon as he saw it, the boy's fear vanished at once. "We've gotta help, we've gotta help, we've gotta help!" he yelled, dashing to the end of the ravine. The bird struggled more fiercely at the sight of someone approaching, all flaring wings and clashing beak and claws thundering upon the ground. "It's okay," he tried to tell it. "We're not enemies. We're going to help you."

Perhaps it didn't understand him, or perhaps it didn't believe him, but his attempt to calm the bird backfired; it twisted and would have bitten him if he hadn't jumped back just in time. Gildarts stared at it in consternation, and then he swallowed and sprinted round behind the bird.

He placed both hands against the boulder and pushed with all his might. It didn't move. Turning around, he put his back to it and tried pushing that way, but it didn't make the boulder any lighter. He fell back with despair in his eyes.

That was when he realized he had been left to fight this battle alone. Zeref was still at the bend in the ravine, watching as intensely as usual but not offering any assistance. As Gildarts returned to pushing the boulder with no more success than before, he shouted across, "Help, please help!"

"I can't. This is as close as I can get."

Ignoring those words as thoughtlessly as the bird had ignored his, the boy ran over, grabbed his hand, and tried to pull him through the ravine. When the Black Mage didn't want to go somewhere, however, he was a lot more difficult to move than a mere rock.

The boy seemed to realize this, and tried pleading with him again. "I think we'll be able to move the rock together! Come on, you've got to help!"

"I can't," Zeref reiterated gravely. Three days ago, he would have sworn that once he had made up his mind over something so trivial, nothing in the world could make him change it. Now, he looked at the boy's desperate, pleading expression and thought it was probably for the best that he could not free the bird without coming close enough to steal its life. "I cannot approach that poor creature with the intention of helping it. Mavis is already protecting you; she can't protect the bird as well. Kid, you have to do this on your own."

"But…" The boy could not understand what would drive someone to refuse to help an innocent creature, yet he gleaned some of its paradoxical inevitability from the other's solemnity. "But I can't move the rock on my own…"

"Wouldn't it be easier if you destroyed the rock rather than trying to move it?"

"I…" All the fear and vulnerability that dominated during his lowest moments burst through the surface at once. "I can't! If I break the rock, I'll break the bird too! I won't be able to stop it… I don't know how to control it…"

"I've told you how to control it. You simply have to _do_ it."

 _"But I can't!"_ he wailed. "Every time I try, I make things worse! I'll kill it, like I killed the other bird, or like…" Unable to finish the sentence, he looked to his companion for sympathy, and found none. None visible to him, at least. "Maybe… maybe a big animal will come along and help it."

"I think it's far more likely that a pack of hungry coyote will find it first."

The boy threw a wild glance back along the ravine, as if he expected to see the predators advancing upon them already. "But… but I don't want to kill anything else…"

"Then don't kill it. Control your power before you can."

"I can't! You know I can't!"

"Then the bird is going to die, isn't it?"

They looked at each other in silence. With leaden steps, the boy began to walk towards the trapped bird. Its great head was bowed towards its fate; it no longer had the energy to struggle. He was trying not to meet its gaze. Tears were already forming in the corners of his eyes.

He reached out to touch the boulder but drew his hand back at the last moment. "I can't," he whispered. His distress took form as destruction; he scrambled backwards as a crack opened in the ground at his feet. His heartbeat was thundering around the ravine as loudly as the creature's cries for help. "I can't control it. I can't…"

He looked at his hand, and to the helpless bird, and then over his shoulder, but he could not hold that intense black stare for more than half a second. He had never before known his companion to be so unapproachable.

What he could not see was that beneath his aloof exterior, Zeref had his fingers crossed behind his back. _You can do it, kid,_ he thought. _You're brave and you're gentle, and you mustn't let doubt control you any more._

"What if I'm fast?" the boy muttered to himself, and Zeref's heart leapt to hear it. He wouldn't be strategizing if he had given up hope. "What if I just touch the rock quickly and run away before it can reach the bird? Yeah, maybe I'll try that…"

His trembling fingers brushed the sun-baked rock. Instantly, his power drove through it like spears through a straw dummy. Cracks shot across solid stone, sending small puffs of dust into the air. He shrieked out loud. For a moment, he felt the silky smoothness of feathers beneath his palm, as though he were stroking the bird, and he knew instinctively that his magic was tracing fatal lines of light across the creature's back. He tried to wrench back that alien feeling, but he might as well have been trying to grab sunlight.

The boulder shattered. Thousands of perfectly cubic fragments shot within millimetres of his head, but he didn't notice. He saw only the white lines breaking up that stunning fiery plumage. There was nothing to stop them from ripping the helpless animal apart.

It was happening again. It would never _stop_ happening. He would kill it, just the same as he'd killed the last bird he befriended, or he'd brought down the ceiling of the spare room in Uncle Robin's house-

Except it _wasn't_ the same.

Back then, he had thought his magic unstoppable. It raged and crushed and killed independently of his control and his wishes, and although none of those things would have happened if not for him, there was a small part of him which clung to innocence, because there was no way he could have prevented them.

That was no longer the case. He knew a way to stop his magic; his companion had explained it to him. Yes, he had never been able to manage it, but that wasn't the fault of his magic – it was _his_ fault. If the bird died here, it wouldn't be because his magic had gone out of control. It would be because he had failed to stop it when it did. There was no ignorance to hide behind; no inevitability to alleviate his guilt. The bird's death would be entirely his fault.

Some tiny yet fundamental part of him had believed that his condition would never change no matter how hard he tried, and now, as he held that beautiful little life in his palms, it was that part of him which shattered.

He screamed, and the light reacted. The white grid seemed to lift away from the bird's back, as if it were a net of woven threads rather than an ethereal figment of magic made manifest. It unfolded and collapsed back onto the boy's outstretched arm, where it pulsed upon his skin once, twice, and then faded completely.

The boy stared at his arm in shock. He was shaking. He was crying too, somehow with even less restraint than usual. A red streak flashed across his blurred vision. The thought of wiping his eyes didn't occur to him, and he struggled to make out what was going on as the freed bird spread its wings and swept once around his head. A wingtip tickled the back of his neck, a soft breeze curled around his shoulders, and then the bird shot up into the sky and was gone.

He fell to his knees, clutching his arm to his chest and weeping freely. He was far too preoccupied to see Zeref let out the breath he had been holding for long enough to suffocate a normal man, or to notice that the first few steps he took towards the boy were weak with the release of his own tension. In fact, the boy only recalled the existence of his companion at all when Zeref rested a hand upon his shoulder, a gentle and comforting presence. "Good job, kid."

This only made the boy break into yet another flood of tears. He clutched at the other's robes, using them to dry his eyes – which Zeref tolerated, but only barely, for the sake of helping him calm down.

"I did it," sniffed the boy.

"Yes," came the soft response. "You did."

"I did something useful. I broke the rock and freed the bird." The wonder in his voice was heart-breaking. "I didn't hurt the bird; I saved it."

"You did well. No one else could have done that. It was because of you and your magic."

"I did something good," he said again, as if he still couldn't believe it. He gave a broad, beaming smile and tightened his grip around the other's leg in a manner that was probably meant to convey affection but only succeeded in cutting off his circulation. "Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me? I didn't do anything."

The boy shook his head. "You're the one who showed me a way of controlling it. If you hadn't done that, I…"

"You finally got a visualization method to work for you, then?"

"Yeah. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. All I had to do was imagine you, since you're the only thing my magic doesn't break."

 _"Me?"_

"Yeah. In between me and the bird. Well, hugging the bird, really. It was quite sweet. You should do it in real life." At the sight of Zeref's expression, his smugness quickly faded. "…What?"

"I honestly don't know whether to laugh or cry."

"I've never seen you do either of those things," the boy pointed out unhelpfully.

"Look…" He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Don't imagine me. It's creepy." And then he added, with a frustrated sigh, "Oh, don't _you_ start."

"I didn't- oh! That was to Mavis, right?"

Zeref met the boy's gaze for a moment and then glanced away again. "She seems to think it's funny."

"If you can't see her or hear her, then how do you know what she's thinking?"

"It's never too difficult to guess what's going through that girl's mind."

The boy mulled this over. "In that case, does telling her to be quiet actually achieve anything?"

"No," Zeref scowled. "But it makes me feel better."

"You're really weird."

"I don't want to hear that from you, thank you very much. Imagining _me,_ of all things…"

The boy just shrugged. "Can we go back to the beach? I want to practise."

"Alright."

They hadn't taken more than a few steps back through the ravine when a sudden thought occurred to the boy, and he stopped in his tracks. "How did the bird get its tail stuck under the rock, do you think?" he wondered aloud.

"It was at the foot of a cliff, wasn't it? I imagine there was a rockslide, and one of the dislodged boulders happened to pin its tail."

"Well, yeah, but… Why didn't it just fly away when it heard the rockslide? It could clearly fly just fine, and those birds are really fast and strong."

"Beats me," Zeref said, walking on.

Gildarts gave him a deeply suspicious look. He had, after all, picked the crags of all places to explore that day, and he had seemed to know exactly where to find the trapped bird… but they'd also been together all morning, and he couldn't have sneaked out during the night because the tent would have collapsed without him. Besides, he seemed far too kind to be the sort of person who went around deliberately harming the wildlife for no reason. So the boy shrugged, put the matter out of his mind, and ran to catch up.

But there _had_ been a reason for it, and as the boy popped up brighter and livelier than ever before at his side, Zeref thought it a good one.

Magic coupled to emotion, and nowhere more so than in a child, who had not yet developed the requisite mental discipline for controlling either. Gildarts's fear of himself, which had commanded his magic for so long, ran deep in him, but there was something that ran deeper still. Zeref did not have a name to put to it – it had simply been too long – though he suspected Mavis might have done.

There was despair in the boy, but not yet enough to have fully quenched his optimism. Each sunrise woke him with new hope, and he had not given up on befriending the animals – or the people – he encountered despite all his setbacks. He had never stopped trying to explore; to make friends; to learn and grow in this world; and to help others, rather than burden them, and thus exist with them as their equal. Deep inside, he had never stopped trying to live. And if that desire was strong enough to survive what the world had thrown at him, it must also be strong enough to override terror's control of his magic.

Just as there had been a part of the boy that had accepted his situation would never change, there had been a part of him fighting it with everything it had _,_ and when they had been forced to face each other, that was the part that had proven stronger.

And, because magic flowed with emotion and responded to desire, from one single encounter the balance of the boy's power had already started to change.

One little magical feedback loop to let him slip away from the boy unnoticed. A simple stasis shield to protect the bird until morning, for no living creature would approach anything bathed in the magic of the one who for so long had brought with him nothing but death. And as for the bird's speed… well, that would do no good against one with an intimate knowledge of time magic. He had gambled with the boy's future, and perhaps he ought not to have done, but nothing less would have opened the way, and only one who knew all too well the consequences of failing could have had the conviction to take that risk.

He wasn't supposed to be using magic, he _knew_ that, but he saw the boy's smile and he knew with equal certainty that no one in the world was going to hold it against him just this once.

And once was quite enough.

Never had he felt so helpless. Never had he cared so much about the outcome of a situation he had so little control over. Never had he risked so much upon the resolve of another human being, let alone one so fragile and unpredictable.

He was never, ever going through _that_ again.

He really wasn't cut out for this whole mentoring thing.

* * *

"Kid, would you please pay attention?"

Gildarts looked up sharply, saw the white lines casually attempting to rip his companion's body apart, and gasped. "Ah, sorry!" He closed his eyes and focussed, and the sense of uncontrolled magic receded, leaving behind a stinging pain which loitered below the surface of Zeref's skin. He glared at the boy, who gave him a sheepish smile in return.

In the few hours since he had rescued the bird, he had already become much better at controlling his power. At first, he had been able to force it back every other time it appeared, but that had crept up to three-quarters with practice, and he was becoming still more competent. He had the feel of it now, and the sense and shape of that control came to him more readily every time.

There was, however, a flipside to the rapidity with which the boy was picking up control. He could force his power safely back into his body – but he seemed completely incapable of stopping it from breaking out in the first place. He could suppress it only when he turned his full focus towards doing so. The moment his attention was caught by something else, his control would slip away unnoticed, and something around him – usually the tree or bush he had just blundered into, but sometimes his irritated companion – paid the price.

If he concentrated on where he was going and what he was doing, he could keep hold of his magic fairly well, and nothing was destroyed. Unfortunately, it just so happened that the boy was absentmindedness incarnate.

Zeref had lost count of the number of times the boy had become distracted by some prowling animal or rainbow plant and walked into him, casually sending enough power through his body to kill a normal man. He was doing his best not to get angry about it. The boy's magic was still incredibly sensitive to his emotions; the more upset he was, the more volatile it became, increasing the chance of it breaking out and making it more difficult for the boy to bring it under control.

It was becoming harder and harder to curb his annoyance, though. How was it even possible for a child to be so absentminded? Maybe, if he could find the source, he'd be able to do something about it… but he discarded that idea almost immediately. He wasn't a therapist. He had only been able to make progress with the boy's wild power because he understood magic, and he knew what was likely to make it act in certain ways. Human beings were another matter entirely. He'd never understood them. This would not be a problem so easily fixed.

"I'm sorry," the boy was saying, shuffling his feet guiltily. "I was distracted thinking about the birds."

Either he misinterpreted Zeref's resentful silence as curiosity, or he was so interested in the subject that he wanted to talk about it anyway, but he added, "Where do you think they live? Because the trees in the forest are big, but the birds are _really_ big. A nest big enough for two birds and all their chicks should be really easy to spot, but I haven't seen a single one, and I've been looking out for _ages._ "

Heaving a sigh, Zeref pointed skywards. "They roost in the Tenrou Tree, like most of the birds on the island."

"Really? Cool!"

"And now you know that, do you think you could maybe concentrate a little more on where we're going?"

Apparently not. "I wanna see them! Can we go up to the top of the tree and find them?"

"And how, exactly, are you planning on getting all the way up there?"

"Umm…" The boy glanced around for a huge ladder, and, upon finding none, he gave his companion an accusing look. "I don't know, but you said you'd been up there, so there must _be_ a way. I've just gotta find it."

"Good luck with that."

"Or, you could take me there," he added hopefully.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because if you got distracted and destroyed the branches we were standing on, we'd both fall to our deaths. Well, technically neither of us would die, I suppose, but I won't put myself willingly through that kind of pain. There's no way I'm taking you up there while you can't control your magic properly."

"Then, does that mean you'll take me if I _can_ control it properly?"

"…Maybe."

"That's a promise!" the boy crowed.

Zeref blinked. "What part of _maybe_ constitutes a promise?" he objected, but the boy wasn't listening, skipping off into the forest and promptly shredding a giant conifer. Zeref raised his eyes towards the heavens. "What am I doing, Mavis?" he moaned, setting off after the boy once again.

* * *

They arrived back at their camp. It was getting late, and the boy wasn't shy about demanding food when he needed it, so Zeref had called an end to the day's training (or, as the boy seemed to be treating it, the day's exploring). He sent Gildarts off to gather firewood – a task that now had become possible, thanks to his ability to control his power when he was concentrating, but one at which he remained extremely inefficient, thanks to his infuriating tendency to wander off after random animals and get lost.

In the meantime, Zeref hadn't forgotten his promise to try and cook the sweet potatoes. He hadn't bothered with anything like this in a great many years of exile – why would he, when it didn't make a difference whether he ate or not? – but if the boy could make an effort, so could he. He found some sticks of his own and took his penknife to them, stripping them down to sharp points before soaking them in water. He had also done a little foraging, turning up some mushrooms that he was fairly sure weren't poisonous, and something that he might have called an oversized courgette if he had found it on a farm on the mainland – or if it hadn't been bright pink. Still, it seemed edible. Knowing the boy, its weird colour would only make him more eager to try it.

The boy returned with a passable amount of firewood. Zeref built a small fire and lit it with a flame flicked from his fingertips – trivial bits of magic didn't count – then went back to sharpening his sticks.

"What're you doing?" the boy asked.

"Cooking."

"Cooking? You said we couldn't, since we didn't have any pans."

"I'm thinking outside the box. It won't be much, because I haven't done this for a while, but it will make a change. Here, hold this," he added, handing the boy one of the sweet potatoes before he could refuse.

"Okay. But what are you- ah!" This came out as a startled shout, because the moment the boy had taken his attention off the potato in his hands, it had broken into little orange chunks. Despair clouded his gaze at once. "I'm sorry… I broke it…"

"Perfect, thank you."

Zeref picked the potato cubes out of the boy's hands and began threading them onto his makeshift skewer. As the boy blinked in astonishment, he pushed the next potato into his hands. "Do this one too." The boy just kept staring at him, and moments later, that potato was neatly cubed as well. "See, we've discovered two uses for your power today: saving trapped birds and instantaneously dicing vegetables. That's much cooler than a magical tent, isn't it?"

"…Huh."

There was a faint smile upon Zeref's face as he held the vegetable skewers above the small fire to cook. The boy shuffled a little closer to him – possibly in search of warmth from the fire, possibly out of an interest in the food, but most likely because it didn't occur to him that other people might not want him invading their personal space. They sat there for a while, watching the vegetables slowly shrivel in the heat, and then, out of nowhere, the boy said, "You seem happy today."

"Do I?"

"Yeah. Happier than before. You're trying new things; fun things. When I first met you, you were kind of distant, but now you seem more cheerful… like you're more alive."

"Really? Well, I'd best put a stop to that, then," Zeref grumbled.

"No, don't. I like you best when you're happy."

"I don't care what you like."

Gildarts lay down on his front, resting his chin on his hands and gazing into the fire. "People aren't normally happy around me. I used to watch the other boys playing in the park, and they were always laughing and smiling and having fun, but whenever I tried to join in, they… they weren't happy any more. When I'm around, people are always angry or scared. But you're not. You never yell at me, even when I break things or hurt you. You're not frightened of me. And when you can be happy even though I'm around… it makes me feel like it's okay that I'm here."

Only silence followed this conclusion, but the boy didn't seem to mind. He was happy to talk to the fire. "I'm sure there was a time when my parents were happy that I was around, but… I don't really remember. Sometimes, when I'm just waking up…" His brow furrowed comically as he tried to think. "You know, until I met you, I had forgotten how warm people were."

"Warm…?" Zeref murmured, and he said nothing else. If only it were so easy to stop himself from thinking.

The boy had spent all of his short life being feared and despised through no fault of his own. The speed with which he would apologize for things; the worry dawning in his eyes whenever he realized he'd caused trouble; the readiness with which he would spring to tears; the need to cling physically to the one human being he could safely touch – they were far more telling signs of the boy's mental state than the words he consciously chose. Even the boy's tendency to get distracted by the smallest things was likely a mechanism his subconscious mind had developed to protect him from the world, because for most of his life, he had only been able to be truly happy when his mind was far away.

Looking in as an outsider, with nothing to lose, nothing to fear, and all the experience that the boy's family and friends did not have, it was easy for Zeref to see where things had gone wrong. Pushing the boy away, and driving him to feel as though he was good for nothing but bringing harm onto others, had been as much a cause of the problem as a response to it. The whole situation could have been avoided if the boy's parents had sought the help of a mage guild when his power had first surfaced – that there were still villages in this day and age which viewed magic with superstitious distrust astounded him – but failing that, if they could only have brought themselves to continue loving him despite it, the boy's quirk would never have developed into a catastrophic problem.

Not being involved, not getting attached – both of those goals had gone out of the window the moment the two of them had met, though it had taken Zeref this long to admit it. He wanted to help the boy because he was the only one who could. It wasn't just that he could solve the puzzle behind the boy's wild magic, because plenty of mages could have done that. It was because he alone had no need to fear the boy. What did he care about the boy's tendency to break things, when he did not carry with him a single item of material value? Why would he worry about being hit by deadly magic when he could not die? He was the only person in the whole world who could treat the boy like a normal human being.

And he understood perfectly what the boy was going through. No – it was more than that, wasn't it? He had found a boy who hated his own existence, but who had not yet learnt to hate the world, and he knew that it was not too late for him to be saved.

Saving people wasn't what Zeref did. Even if it might have been, a very long time ago, any remnant of that which had survived the centuries of rejection had died with-

"It's on fire!" the boy shouted, jumping to his feet.

Cursing his own inattentiveness – the realization that he had been paying less attention than Mister Absentmindedness himself was not a pleasant one – he jerked the makeshift skewers back from over the fire and saw, to his dismay, that one was now sporting its own little crown of flames. The boy was dashing back and forth in search of the bottles of water, but Zeref ignored him, wrapping his free hand around the burning wood to instantly douse the flames.

The boy skidded to a halt, staring at him with horrified eyes. "Did you just-?"

"Don't ever do that, by the way," his companion told him, somewhat unnecessarily.

"But didn't you burn your hand?"

"No." He held up his hand to show the boy his unmarked skin. "Kid, you do realize that every time your magic goes out of control, it's putting enough power through me to kill a fully-grown wyvern, right? If that can't leave a mark on this body, what on earth makes you think an ordinary flame will be able to hurt me?"

"…Oh." Gildarts sat back down again. "You're actually quite cool, aren't you?"

"Again with the surprise," Zeref grumbled. "Here, you can have the unburnt one. Careful, though – it'll be hot."

The boy took it gratefully and began tearing the vegetables off with his teeth. It was the closest thing they were going to get to a proper meal on the island, and though it might not have been much, in a strange way, it was important to them both.

* * *

The fire died out; its smouldering embers found their celestial twin in the fading twilight above. The boy got to his feet, yawned, and announced that he was going to get the tent so that they could go to bed.

He hadn't taken more than one step before a hand closed around the back of his collar. "Not so fast, kid. You haven't been for your evening bath yet."

"…By 'evening bath', do you mean 'being thrown in the sea'?"

"I can't get anything past you, can I, kid?" Zeref asked dryly.

"I don't wanna go in the sea again!"

"I don't care."

"But I don't need to!" the boy protested. "I can control it now!"

"Wrong. You can control it for as long as you're concentrating on it. That's about five minutes maximum when you're awake; when you're asleep, there won't be anything holding it back at all."

"…Oh. Does that mean I'll always destroy things when I'm asleep, then? Since I won't be able to focus?"

"Not necessarily. Once control becomes more natural to you, it should hold when you're asleep as well. You don't stop breathing when you're asleep, do you?"

"I guess not…"

"At the rate you're progressing, give it another day or two and you'll be fine. Right now, though, you need to go in the sea."

"I still don't want to. It's cold and wet and it's really tiring and I keep thinking I'm going to drown."

Zeref felt a twinge of guilt, but he pushed it away at once. That was one battlefield upon which he had to hold firm against his compassion. It was only because the boy believed he was in mortal danger that this method for draining his power worked in the first place. His magic reacted to his fear that death was imminent, and appeared in the most powerful form it could take in its attempt to destroy a threat that could not be destroyed, quickly driving itself to exhaustion. If he were merely swimming in the sea for fun, it would provoke no more of a response from his power than his ordinary lapses in control.

There was no danger – the blessing of the Tenrou Tree protected him from death by drowning, and besides, Zeref would intervene long before it reached that point – but if the boy understood that, it would cease to provoke the necessary survival response from his magic. If there was a less unpleasant way of draining the boy's power that didn't also damage the island (or Zeref himself), he'd be doing that, but letting the ocean absorb it was the best he had.

So he shrugged, and said, "It's better than you waking me up every five minutes in the middle of the night because your power has gone out of control again, don't you think?"

The boy mumbled something unintelligible. Then he sat bolt upright as an idea occurred to him – a motion which only induced a sense of trepidation in his companion. Craftily, he said, "Mavis says she doesn't want you to throw me in the sea."

"No, she doesn't," Zeref retorted, unimpressed. "Don't make things up."

"But how do you _know_ she's not saying that?" the boy persisted.

"Because she knows _I_ know what I'm doing. Her leaving you in my care involved a tacit agreement that I could deal with you in whichever way I saw fit. And right now, that involves dropping you in the ocean."

"Aww…"

"And don't be disrespectful to Mavis. She's the only reason why you're still alive."

The boy shuffled his feet. "I don't see how _anyone_ could support the idea of you throwing me in the sea, though."

"Kid, anyone who has spent more than five minutes in your company would support me unreservedly. Now, come along, or I might just leave you alone in the dark."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** So... hi all. I haven't been writing my usual notes at the end of chapters this time because I knew most of them would just end up being me complaining about all the problems I had writing this fic. (This week's problem: I now know why no one writes training sequences from the point of view of the 'wise mentor' rather than the 'young protagonist'. I tried shifting to Gildarts's PoV but it didn't work at all - the tension was even less believable, not least because it was obvious that Zeref had set everything up - so at least (mostly) staying with Zeref makes it consistent with the rest of the story. And of course, Zeref has it backwards - it's precisely because he was so stressed during that scene that proves he's a good mentor. Heh.)_

 _Anyway, I only really came here to say thank you to everyone who has followed or reviewed this story so far - it really means a lot to me! As always, thank you for reading! ~CS_


	7. A Grand Adventure

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **S** **even – A Grand Adventure**

Three mornings with the boy; three mornings on which Zeref had been rudely awoken long before he was ready to face the day. Once was understandable, and twice could have been a coincidence, but evidence was slowly mounting in favour of this being a pattern – and if that was how it was going to be then he was ditching the boy at the next available opportunity, and responsible guardianship be damned.

It didn't help that the third instance was the worst of them all. He slowly became aware of something smooth, warm and unpleasantly damp nuzzling the back of his neck. "Go away," he told it, though it came out as more of a wordless grunt. He tried to bat the thing away, but he had a suspicion that his hand was failing to respond to the command. He didn't blame it. He wouldn't have moved either.

He kept his eyes firmly closed and tried instead to sink back into the pleasant nothingness of sleep. It didn't work. The damp thing refused to yield in its quest to make his life miserable. In fact, as offended by the very implication, it began snuffling at his cheek.

With a groan, he rolled over – and found himself face to face with a boar. He blinked at it. It grunted and sniffed his cheek again experimentally, one of its tusks brushing against his nose.

Zeref closed his eyes in despair. "Oh, leave me alone. It's far too early in the morning for this."

The boar did not leave him alone. Instead, it tried to eat his hair.

At that moment, the tent flap was wrenched open, flooding the interior with watery half-light, and something impossibly energetic scrambled into the tent. "Ah! It got inside!" the boy exclaimed.

And then, as if his very existence wasn't already too loud for this hour of the morning, the boy's voice rose to a panicked shriek. "Get away from him!" he yelled, dashing forwards and striking the boar's flank with his small fist.

There was a flash of white light and a pulse of energy, and the boar, which was easily as big as the boy, was suddenly hurtling through the air.

At the same time, Zeref was somehow on his feet, and he snatched the boar-turned-cannonball out of the sky right before it could tear through the tent wall.

While the boy stared, open-mouthed, he marched outside the tent with the struggling creature tucked under his arm. "Don't make me use magic this early in the morning!" he yelled, and he tossed the boar towards the trees. It landed with a squeal and scurried off into the undergrowth. Zeref glared after it, as if holding the entire forest responsible for this disastrous morning.

"Umm…"

He heard the hesitant sound of the boy's voice from behind him, and he couldn't help growling. Rubbing his eyes, he demanded, "What?"

"Are you alright?"

"You mean, other than the fact that I'm awake at this ungodly hour?" he snapped. "What do you think you're playing at, letting animals into the tent at a time like this?"

"It wasn't on purpose! I could hear something rooting round outside, so I went to investigate, and I found the boar. I chased it round the tent, but it must have sneaked inside when I was still at the back. I didn't mean to let it in. I really didn't."

"Oh, but that's not all you did, is it? No, as if letting a wild boar come in and wake me up _before dawn_ wasn't bad enough, you also had to send it flying and nearly destroy my tent with it!"

"But… I didn't mean to do that either… I thought you were in danger…"

"In danger? _Me?_ From a _wild animal?_ "

With eyes wide as saucers, the boy insisted, "I thought it was going to eat you!"

" _Eat_ me? Boars don't eat people! How was it going to eat me when I was bigger than it?"

"…Oh. I guess I didn't really think about that. I just… panicked."

"No, thinking is the one thing that you really didn't do," Zeref scowled. "I'm going back to sleep. Don't bother me again."

With that, he brushed past the boy and returned to the tent, lying down, curling up, and stubbornly closing his eyes. He had hoped that would be the end of it, but a quiet rustling indicated that the boy had followed him inside, and he seemed unable to comprehend that other people didn't like being awake when the sun was still below the horizon.

"You know," the boy ventured, "You were really cool just then."

"What?"

"When you caught the boar. One moment you were half-asleep and looking a bit dead, and then the next, you'd somehow stopped it right before it broke the tent. I didn't even see you move. I didn't know you were that fast, or that strong. I didn't know _anyone_ was. It was really cool."

"…You and your underwhelming ideas of what makes something cool," Zeref grumbled, still not opening his eyes. " _You're_ the one who nearly blasted the boar into orbit just because you thought I was in danger."

"Well, I don't even know how I did that. It just happened when I hit it."

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Not to me," the boy pointed out, and when that didn't get a response, he continued, "So, maybe you could explain-"

"Can't you see I'm trying to sleep here?"

"…Oh. Sorry."

It only kept the boy quiet for a couple of minutes, but that was good enough to let Zeref slip back into sleep.

* * *

Fortunately, Zeref's second attempt at waking up was a lot more pleasant. The sun had actually risen by then, for a start, and there were no wild animals nuzzling his face. Even better, the boy was nowhere to be seen. He remained inside the tent for several minutes, mentally preparing himself to deal with another human being, and then he headed out to see where his charge had got to.

Gildarts hadn't gone far. There was an enormous tree at the edge of their campsite, almost two metres in diameter, and around its trunk a crimson-feathered bird was flying in lazy circles. The boy scurried after it, leaping up to try and catch its rumpled tail-feathers every time it deliberately dipped a little too low. When it saw Zeref watching, the bird gave an indignant squawk and fluttered up to the canopy. The boy sighed as he watched it go, but his disappointment bounced right back to excitement as he too registered his companion's arrival.

"You're awake!" he cried out, dashing over to greet him properly – which apparently meant flinging his arms around him and beaming up at him, because no one had ever taught this boy any respect for personal space. "I thought you were going to sleep all day!"

"It's not my fault. Constantly having to stop your magic from ripping me apart wears me out. And speaking of which…"

"Ah!" The boy jumped backwards at once. Rather than falling into a spiral of panic and apology, however, he stayed calm, and the white lines that had started crawling across the other's body faded before they could inflict any damage.

This earned him an approving nod. "Good. It seems you've got the hang of calling your magic back in. If only you could pay more attention to what was going on and stop it from appearing in the first place, it would be perfect."

"I'm _trying_ …" the boy protested. Then, as if he were actively trying to disprove his own point, he immediately went off on a tangent. "Say, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"You're awake enough not to get mad this time, right?"

"I won't get mad."

"Okay. Then, why did the boar go flying back when I hit it this morning, even though it was way too heavy for me to lift? You said it was obvious, but when I said it wasn't obvious to me, you got cross and refused to talk to me."

"I wasn't cross. I just fell asleep."

"…Oh. Well, can you tell me now?"

"I suppose it's easy enough to understand," Zeref shrugged. "You acted because you didn't want me to get hurt. But you didn't want to hurt the boar, either. You were both trying to use your power and trying to restrain it completely, and because you can't stop it from appearing but you can control it a little once it's there, you found yourself holding a lot of raw magic confined to a very small region of space. When you hit the boar, it had nowhere else to go, so it took form as sheer energy, amplifying the force behind the blow."

"Huh. That's pretty cool."

Zeref nodded slowly. "It's a simple process; one that any competent mage will do without even having to think about it. It's why those who possess and use magic always hit harder, and are physically much tougher, than those who do not. I suppose in your case there is such a discrepancy between your teeny tiny body and the ridiculous amount of magic trapped inside it that the effect is really quite remarkable."

"Huh." The boy considered this for a moment, and then said, "Do you think…?" But he stopped before he reached the end of the question.

"Do I think what?"

"…It doesn't matter."

"If you say so."

"I was trying to make it happen again this morning, while I was waiting for you to wake up," the boy informed him. "But I couldn't do it. I either broke the things I hit, or nothing happened. I had to stop in the end, because my hand was hurting too much from punching rocks."

"Yes, I can't imagine it will be an easy thing for you to learn. For most mages it's entirely instinctive, but since you're essentially learning to use magic backwards, it'll take a long time and a lot of practice before you'll be able to do it on command."

"Can you do it?"

"…I said that all competent mages could, and I do consider myself to be fairly competent, yes."

"Then maybe… you could show me how to do it properly?"

"No."

The flat refusal caught the boy by surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you! I know that you know a lot about magic. It's just that _I_ don't know very much, so I thought I should ask, rather than just assuming…"

"It's not that; I'm not offended." He shook his head firmly. "I don't mind showing you how to control your magic, but I won't teach you to fight with it."

Disheartened, the boy begged to know why, but Zeref was no longer listening to anything that they both could hear. Tilting his head slightly, he added, "Oh? It's not like you to agree with me."

"…What?" blinked the boy. "Oh, Mavis again, right? I guess if she doesn't want me to do it either…"

"Not at all. You should definitely learn to fight properly. It would be a waste if you didn't… so she says. _I_ don't care either way, of course. But she does respect my decision that I shouldn't be the one to teach you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not one of mine, kid. I'm only doing this as a personal favour." He rested his hand atop the boy's head – amidst that bright orange hair, which had only become brighter with each successive night, as the improvised baths in the sea had steadily washed away the grime of neglect. Gildarts, who had stopped flinching from him long ago, gazed up with trust and concern. "If I taught you to fight, it would commit you to one side of a war you're far too young to understand, and I won't do that. _That's_ what she agrees with."

The boy deserved a normal teacher; one who could pass on magical knowledge and fighting expertise without caveats or burdens, and allow him to make his own choice in life once he was old enough to do so. If he decided to stay with Mavis's guild, and all that might one day come with that, then so be it. After everything that had been forced upon him as a child, the boy had the right to decide his future for himself.

"I don't understand at all…"

"Then you'll just have to trust that we know what we're doing, won't you?"

"But if you won't teach me, who will?"

"Kid, any mage on the continent could teach you to fight like that. And most will jump at the chance to pick up a student with such magical potential, as long as you keep your destructive tendencies under control around them."

"You… really mean that?" The boy's eyes were wide and shining, and more than that, they glimmered with such hope. It had been so long since such a look had been directed at him that the words Zeref had been about to say fled from his mind.

"Do you think…?" The boy began, only to falter once again. He swallowed, and had another go. "With the bird that we rescued, and the boar, I was wondering if… no, it's silly."

By now, Zeref thought he could guess what the boy was trying to ask. He was the least qualified person in the world to answer it – there had even been days, bad days, when he would have killed for less than what was implied by it – and the mere thought of trying to give an answer, of trying to smile as he did so, was uncomfortable enough to stem any words of reassurance trying to clamber out of his mouth.

So he did not answer. He was under no obligation to try and do so if the boy did not even ask it. Instead, he said, "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

The boy stayed exactly where he was. "Every time you say that, something bad happens. Usually involving me and the ocean."

"I just don't like staying in the same place for too long, that's all."

"…You're really not going to throw me in the sea?"

"I won't. We can go inland if it makes you feel more comfortable."

The boy pondered this suspiciously, but when he could not find any obvious tricks, he nodded his assent. They set off. The forest environs merged into exotic, jungle-like surroundings so smoothly that neither of them noticed they had changed biomes until the boy blundered into a natural booby trap of vines. There he tripped and hung upside-down until a burst of power freed him, while Zeref definitely did not laugh, because Black Mages were not supposed to be amused by slapstick humour and he had a reputation to protect. It was warm here, but not humid or damp. The great ferns and mighty trees rustled with life.

Between the unusual fauna and the vibrant flora, they hadn't been walking for more than a minute before the boy's trepidation vanished completely. Bounding on ahead, he peered at an enormous drooping flower. When he lifted up a petal to see inside, a sapphire hummingbird shot out and flitted around him, much to his delight, before flying off. He then proceeded to lift all the other petals on the bush, hoping to find more hidden birds, as if succumbing to the temptation of the advent calendar on the first day of December.

"We're like explorers!" he informed Zeref, when he finally caught up. "Going where no one has ever been and discovering new animals!"

Zeref frowned at him. "It's not really exploring. I know exactly where we are."

"Well, I don't. So if I walk in front, it still counts, right?"

"…Sure, why not?"

Gildarts let out a whoop of joy and shot forwards again, this time running face-first into the flank of a great woolly yak with impressive horns. He bounced straight off and fell on his backside; unfazed, he scrambled straight back to his feet and stared at the creature in wonder. "Sorry!" he said to it. "I didn't see you there!"

The yak fixed him with a baleful look. Gildarts reached out and gently patted its nose. It snorted through his fingers, and then licked them optimistically, before coming to the conclusion that the boy wasn't edible and lumbering off through the trees. He watched it go with a broad grin. Then, after throwing a glance over his shoulder to check that his companion was keeping up, he dashed off again.

Zeref dutifully followed, though he dropped back a little further, widening the gap between them once again. The wild animals were much more likely to approach the boy – and a lot less likely to spontaneously drop dead – if he wasn't nearby, and he didn't want to ruin the boy's mood by getting too close.

From here, the boy's progress was as clear as day. While his power was still destroying any unfortunate rocks that happened to be in his way, it had virtually stopped doing the same to living creatures. The boy hadn't even noticed that he was petting all the animals he came across without harming them. On the few occasions that those white lines had appeared, streaking across fur or scales or feathers, he always noticed straight away, and brought them firmly back under control before they could deal any permanent damage. Even when he had stumbled once or twice into Zeref, his power remained dormant, and the pain that the Black Mage had grown accustomed to never came.

Gildarts's magic was learning. Now that he could control it somewhat, by forcing it to back down whenever it tried to break something that was alive, and letting it be when it was an inanimate object, it was coming to understand that there were some things it was allowed to destroy, and some things it was not. As Zeref had promised, it wasn't trying to hurt him. He doubted that the boy would ever reach the complete subconscious control that most mages had naturally – his magic had simply grown too wild to be stuffed back in _that_ box – but, with enough practice, he might be able to make it safe towards other people.

Most importantly, since the boy had stopped being constantly on edge, feeling resented, and fearing his own magic, so too had the uncontrollable bursts of devastation become few and far between. His power coupled to his emotions, but to his distress far more than his happiness. When he was relaxed and cheerful and far too entranced by the wonder of everything he laid eyes upon to even begin to hate his own existence, his contentment alone held his power in check without him even having to think about it.

Yes, he might never have discovered the feeling of control if he hadn't been shown a method for reaching it, and yes, he might have stopped trying long ago if his companion hadn't encouraged him, but ultimately, it wasn't those things that had made the difference.

It was because he was happy.

Because he had been able to stop panicking and make progress. Because he had become able to see that the power which caused so much grief and suffering could also be useful. Because he had made a friend around whom he could relax without fear of harming them, and he had come to realize that he wouldn't always have to be alone.

Because the powers that be, which had seen fit to give this twisted magic to such a young and innocent child, had also shown him mercy, and dropped him into the lap of the one man in the world who had been able to help him – and in doing so, a fate that might have been filled with despair and self-loathing had been avoided.

"Happiness, curiosity, optimism," Zeref murmured to himself, as he watched the boy scramble into some bushes and scramble out again just as quickly, pursued by a giant rainbow snake. "He certainly didn't learn those things from me."

And, as was so often the case when the switch rails shifted and his train of thought was sent racing off down a direction he disliked, he scowled, and added, "You know, I don't even know why I needed to be here. I'm starting to think that your insistence on getting me involved had less to do with helping him, and more with wanting to watch me suffer having to put up with him."

The forest did not deign to answer that accusation.

The boy chose that moment to dash back over to him – apparently his speed, like his enthusiasm, had no setting between 'off' and 'high' – in order to grab his hand and pull him onwards. "Look what I found!" Gildarts crowed, presenting to Zeref a perfectly ordinary cave mouth with a level of excitement more appropriate for having discovered a secret civilization. "What do you think lives in there?"

With a frown, Zeref took stock of their surroundings, and answered, "Probably bears."

"Bears?" The boy's eyes grew comically large and unsettlingly shiny. "I've never seen a bear before! Are bears nocturnal? Do you think they're asleep right now? Do you think if I'm really quiet, I might be able to sneak in and take a look without them waking up?"

"I don't think brown bears are nocturnal-" Zeref tried, but apparently the boy's question was rhetorical, because he was already trotting off towards the cave.

Zeref folded his arms and waited. He wanted no part in this.

Or so he tried to tell himself, but he could not glance away from the shadow-veiled maw that had swallowed the boy, and for the first time in decades he found the silence unnerving. Just as he was wondering how long he should leave it before going in after him, the boy reappeared, sprinting towards him and yelling at the top of his voice: "RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!"

"What's the matter?" he asked, still very much bemused.

The boy slowed down just for long enough to inform him in a deadly serious whisper, "Brown bears aren't nocturnal!"

And then he grabbed Zeref's hand and dragged him back the way they'd come as an enormous bear burst out of the cave mouth and thundered towards them.

There were any number of ways in which Zeref could have dealt with the threat. He could have killed the bear without so much as raising his hand. He could have scared it off, using either his own magic or by triggering an explosion of the boy's errant power. In fact, he probably wouldn't have had to use magic at all – if he stood there and waited, the bear would likely have recognized him and backed down.

But he did none of those things. The boy was terrified, but also incredibly excited; drawn onwards by the thrill of sheer adventure. Solving the problem was not the best way forwards. There was a part of him that recognized that, and though it was not a part he had cared for in a great many years, he listened to it now, and allowed himself to be pulled through the forest at a breakneck pace.

Somehow, the boy managed to find the breath to pant an explanation as he ran. "She had baby bears!" he gasped, in an awestruck voice. "Really fluffy baby bears! I think she thought I was going to steal one! I wasn't, though. I just wanted to cuddle it for a bit. I'd have put it straight back."

"…Stop talking, before I throw you to the bear."

The boy gulped and ran faster. They were only managing to stay ahead of their pursuer on such uneven terrain because his magic was flooding from his feet, smoothing out the ground and destroying all obstacles in their path – a useful ability, but not useful enough, as far as Zeref was concerned, to compensate for the pain it was causing him as it tried to destroy his feet too.

A deafening roar tore through the forest. "She's getting closer!" the boy shouted, somewhat unnecessarily, because they could both see the beast closing in.

"This way."

"But- there's a river-"

"We can cross it," came the calm response. Zeref knew this island better than anyone else alive, after all. The river was deep and ferocious, enough to give even a mighty bear second thoughts about swimming it, but he had no intention of swimming himself. Exactly as he remembered, the trunk of a great dead tree stretched from one bank to the other – a perfect natural bridge. "If you destroy the tree, the bear won't be able to follow us."

"Ah!"

And then they were both tearing along the bridge. It was wide and sturdy, but no sooner had the boy set foot upon it than it wasn't sturdy any more, and very soon it would no longer qualify as wide either. The boy wasn't controlling his power at all. Lightning fractures raced along their escape route and it began to break up under their feet.

Sensing the danger too late, the boy put on an extra burst of speed, but it wasn't going to be enough. They were only halfway across when the entire tree shattered.

That was when Zeref called his power to him.

This was the magic that had broken time and created life and reshaped history; magic he had sealed deep within him in the vain hope that suppressing it would also suppress the curse upon his body. He buried it, along with any temptation to use it as he had in days gone by, because this present existence of his did not require it – just as he had taken to not eating, for he did not need to in order to keep this body alive; or as he had ceased training, for this body would maintain its present state without any effort on his part; or as he had stopped doing anything at all, because that way he could remain half-alive, half-awake, and the days of his self-imposed exile would slip by and he would not have to live through them.

But for all the time he had spent pushing it away, it came to him faithfully, without a moment of doubt. A ghostly black wave pulsed out from his body, crossing every horizon in the blink of an eye. It stole the colour from everything it passed over – from sky and sea and the Tenrou Tree itself – and with colour went motion. The greyscale world was a world outside time: impossibly still; perfectly preserved; at once full and empty and wrapped in infinite silence.

Only he and the boy still moved. All the colour had been taken from the universe and granted to them: the intense blacks of his robes were tar-pits that captured all light, and the whites so bright they could only have been divine; for the first time, he could see the protective golden aura encircling the boy with his own eyes, and it far outshone the lustreless sun.

He seized the boy bodily and leapt across to the nearest chunk of tree. There was nothing above or below it, but it moved no more than the stilled wind or the frozen river under their combined weight. Then they were gone again, his feet finding the next stepping stone of their own accord – as if he had never stopped doing this; as if all the years of suppressing it had been for naught; as if adventuring and fighting and changing the world with a single whisper of magic ran still in his blood.

The moment he touched the far bank, his magic released without conscious thought. He blinked and the world was once again a storm of colour and sound, overwhelming after the emptiness; determined to make up for lost time. The last of their bridge plummeted into the water. The bear scrambled to a halt on the opposite bank. His heart was pounding in his chest, old and somehow familiar, and he wondered how long it had been since he had last felt this much like a living human being.

" _Whoa_ ," came an awed whisper, as the boy wriggled free of his grasp. "That was so cool!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zeref said, fighting down that uncharacteristic excitement until not a trace of it showed upon his face. It wasn't as though not talking about his magic could make those few frozen seconds not have happened, but he didn't want to draw attention to his transgression nonetheless. _Especially_ not to someone who already seemed to think that his rule-breaking was a good thing.

"Everything stopped!"

"You're imagining things."

"I'm not! It was all grey and quiet and it was like time had been turned off! It was amazing!"

"It's an illusion caused by adrenaline. It always seems to slow things down in a crisis."

"It never has done before, though."

"Clearly you haven't been in enough magical battles."

"I've been in none," the boy pointed out.

"There you go, then."

On the other side of the river, the bear concluded that pursuing them further would be too much trouble, and returned to her cubs. "We did it!" the boy cheered. "We got away!"

"You know, when I told you to destroy the tree trunk, I meant _once we'd already crossed it_."

An apologetic grin. "I know. I didn't mean to break it like that. I wasn't really paying attention."

"Tell me something I don't know," Zeref sighed. "Well, have you learnt your lesson about wandering into unknown caves now?"

"Oh, yes." The boy gave an emphatic nod, looked him dead in the eye, and whispered dreadfully, " _Caves have bears in._ "

"Yeah, that's not _quite_ the moral I was going for, but I suppose it'll do."

"So, let's go and find some more caves!"

"…Were you listening to anything I just said?"

Apparently not. "Bears are awesome, aren't they? They're so powerful, and fast, and they're fuzzy and terrifying at the same time. Maybe we'll find a bigger one this time! Let's look for the biggest, darkest cave we can find!"

"…Right," said Zeref. "Kid, is there _anything_ you're afraid of?"

The boy clutched the front of his robes, gazing up at him dramatically. "Monsters!"

"You say that, but then you go and run face-first into every dark cave you can find… Don't you think that's a bit of a contradiction?"

"Oh, I'm not scared of _meeting_ the monsters," the boy assured him, as though it were obvious. "I'm only scared of being eaten by them."

"And you don't think one is going to lead to the other?"

"Not if I run quickly enough!" came the cheerful response.

"…That's far too energetic a philosophy for me, kid."

Suddenly, the boy became serious again, releasing his grip and stepping away from his companion. "I used to be afraid of being alone," he said to his feet. "I didn't mind being in the basement on my own for a bit, but I was worried that I'd be there forever… or worse, that I'd come out and mummy and daddy would have gone away and I'd be all on my own…"

A frown, and then a smile, flowing into each other without resentment. "But then I _was_ left on my own, here on this island, and it was because I was alone that I met you. And even when you're slow sometimes and lag behind, I'm still not alone, because there are the bears and the birds and the snakes and all the awesome animals I get to meet. If being alone means making new friends then I don't mind it at all."

"Yes," came Zeref's soft response. "You never know what you're going to find when you step out into the world."

And he managed to refrain from adding: _Or who you're going to meet. Because, just as you're ready to give up on the world, you might meet an interesting dragon or a kind girl or a kid who needs you, and the next thing you know the adrenaline is soaring and your heart is racing and you're living like you haven't done in decades-_

The boy chirruped, "So, come on, let's go and explore some more caves!"

"That's really not the sentiment I was agreeing with," Zeref sighed, knowing that they were going to spend the rest of the morning scouring the island for poor, unsuspecting bears whether he liked it or not.

"Besides," the boy chattered on, "If we run into another bear, I might get to see you use magic again."

Zeref looked at him in surprise, and then gave a slight smile. "Not likely. If you try dropping me in another river, I'm leaving you to fend for yourself."

The boy grinned up at him. "You're in a good mood again, aren't you?"

"I am not _._ "

"Yes, you are. Time for another adventure." And, making it very clear that he wasn't going to accept no for an answer, the boy darted off into the bushes.

Zeref raised his eyes to the sky. "I am _not_ in a good mood," he reiterated, and hurried after him.

* * *

"Try that one too."

Zeref pointed to a palm tree a little way along the beach. It was the fifth one he had so indicated in as many minutes, and the boy needed no further prompting to dash over and give it a swift kick. The blow probably hurt him more than it did the tree, but that was without factoring in the white cracks that had immediately shot out from the point of contact, ripping through the bark and seeking out the large palm fronds above. There wasn't enough power in it to destroy the tree outright – he had been trying to hold it back – but the leaves didn't share the toughness of the tree's trunk, and a shower of shredded greenery cascaded down towards him, along with two coconuts the size of bowling balls.

Chirping excitedly, Gildarts jumped into the air to try and catch them – heedless to the fact that each one was larger than his head and could knock him out quite comfortably – but Zeref got there first, sweeping them both out of the air with a deft agility that belied his usual apparent reluctance to do anything at all. The two coconuts settled momentarily onto his upturned palms, and then both disappeared in a modest burst of light.

Gildarts had suspected he had been hiding the coconuts they gathered with magic, but this was the first time he'd caught a glimpse of it in action, and his eyes widened with predictable astonishment. "Whoa. You made them vanish!"

"Requip," the other told him calmly. "It's a useful little piece of magic. I'd forgotten I learnt that one. I bet I've got all sorts of interesting things stored away in there." Not that he was about to start emptying his pocket dimension in front of the boy. He highly doubted he'd been using it to store useful things like cooking utensils back in the day.

"Can you teach me how to do that?"

"You really ought to focus on the magic you have before you start worrying about learning other kinds, kid."

This was accepted as good advice; the boy backed down without further protest. Instead, he asked, "What do you need so many coconuts for, anyway?"

"You'll see."

The boy trotted along beside him as he strolled across the sand. Much of the island's shoreline was taken up by beaches, but this was undoubtedly the best of them all. If it had been attached to the mainland, rather than a magical island out in the middle of nowhere, its unspoilt golden sand, gentle waves, and idyllic smattering of palm trees ready and waiting for a hammock to be stretched between them would have made it a tourist favourite. As it was, it was empty save for the two of them; their own private paradise.

"Here will do," Zeref announced, stopping in the middle of the beach for no obvious reason.

"Here will do for what?"

He didn't answer the question. "Sit down."

"…Right here?"

"Yes, right here."

The boy obeyed without further objection, sitting cross-legged on the sand and awaiting further instructions. Zeref returned the stored coconuts to his hand one by one and set them down in a circle with the boy at its heart, a ritual sacrifice to the gods of sunbathing and rum-based cocktails.

"Don't touch!" he warned, and the boy froze with his outstretched hand millimetres away from the first coconut. Under that stern glare, Gildarts returned his hand to his lap and shifted shamefully as he waited for the coconut ring to be complete.

"What's this for?" he burst out, the moment it was done. "Is it a magic circle? Oh, are you going to summon something? Like an earth spirit, or a demon, or something?"

Zeref blinked at him. "…No, I'm not going to summon any demons using a magic circle made of coconuts. They'd come, certainly, but they'd never let me live it down."

"…Oh." Disappointment was hardly the most appropriate reaction to not meeting a demon, but it was what he received nonetheless. "Then… what _are_ you going to do with the coconuts?"

"This is a test."

The boy's eyes grew wide. "A test? What sort of test? Is it spelling? I'm really bad at spelling. But that's not my fault! I wasn't allowed to go to school with the others, and I'm not very good at remembering things-"

"No, it's not a spelling test. Why would I care how good your spelling is? I'm testing you on how well you've learnt to control your magic."

"Okay! What happens if I pass? Do I get a prize?"

After a moment's consideration, Zeref said, "If you pass, I won't throw you in the sea tonight."

The boy's face lit up as if he'd been offered his heart's desire. "Awesome! So, what do I have to do?"

"Nothing."

"…Nothing?"

"That's right. You have to sit there and do nothing. If you break any of the coconuts, you fail. If you move any of the coconuts, you fail. And you may not leave the circle of coconuts until I tell you otherwise. I'll know if you do. Is that understood?"

"But that's easy!" the boy exclaimed. "I can definitely do that!"

"That's the spirit. Well, then; I'll see you in a few hours." And with that, Zeref began walking back towards the forest.

"Ha, this is going to be easy!" Gildarts crowed. "Don't leave the circle, don't break the coconuts. Easy. I can do- _hang on a minute._ " And as the penny dropped, and his mountain of optimism flipped to become a valley of despair in point-one of a second, he shouted after his companion, "Did you just say _a few hours?"_

But Zeref had already gone.

"…Oh dear," breathed Gildarts. " _Ohhhhh dear._ "


	8. A Little Light

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Eight – A Little Light**

"Right, then."

Gildarts made the declaration with a lot more conviction than he felt, and he followed it up with a firm clap of his hands. Those seemed like the kind of authoritative actions which would convince the world that he knew what he was doing.

"I can do this," he assured the doubting clouds. "All I've got to do is concentrate until he gets back. Don't leave the circle, don't break the coconuts. Don't leave the circle, don't break the coconuts."

He glanced around for something to do, but there was nothing inside the circle within which he was imprisoned save for the sand and himself. He tried optimistically to push some of the sand together, but without water it refused to hold its shape, and the waves were breaking a few metres shy of the circle. If he waited long enough, the tide might come in… but then again, it might not. This was Tenrou Island, where the laws of nature did not dare to tread. Letting out a deep sigh – an expression he had almost certainly picked up from his companion – he traced circular patterns in the sand.

"It'll be fine," he told himself fiercely. "I'll just focus on breathing. In, and out. In, and out. In… oh, I'm so _bored!"_ This last word became a shout. "Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored! _A few hours?_ I'll _die_ of boredom before he gets back!"

Then a thought occurred to him. "It feels like I've been here for ages, though. Maybe it's been an hour already. Maybe it's been _two_ hours." Peeping through his fingers, he tried to assess the sun's progress through the sky, but only succeeded in making his eyes sting. "Well, maybe if I close my eyes and open them again, he'll be back."

When he opened his eyes, there was still no black-haired mage in sight. There was _something_ to catch his attention, though. Little white cracks had begun to creep out from his crossed legs, snaking silently across the sand. Panicking, he fumbled for the sense of control and brought them to a halt before any of them could reach the coconuts.

Now he was starting to understand the nature of the test. His magic was as bored as he was, and as restless. He didn't yet have the control that came automatically to other mages – he could call it back if he noticed it, but as soon as he stopped thinking about it, it would sneak out again. Even worse, it would start trying to destroy the only destructible things around: the forbidden coconuts.

"Got – to – focus," he ordered himself firmly, punctuating every word with a smack to his own forehead. "Don't leave the circle. Don't break the coconuts. Don't leave the circle. Don't break the coconuts… what is a coconut, anyway? It looks too big to be a real nut. Maybe it's secretly a fruit, like strawberries… or are strawberries the ones that are secretly vegetables? Wait, coconut milk is a thing, isn't it? So coconuts are probably part of the cow family. I wonder how you get the milk out."

He stared at the innocuous coconut as if he could intimidate it into giving up its secrets – secrets as valuable as the location of buried treasure. "Maybe I could just look inside…" But he jerked his hand back at the last moment, reminding himself: "Don't touch the coconuts!"

His resolve lasted for about a second before he was shiftily glancing left and right, trying to see if he really was alone. "If I don't break it, and put it right back where it was, how's he going to know if I touched it or not?" he reasoned out loud. "I don't think he was paying that much attention anyway. If I made a little hole in one of them, just to see what it's like inside, he probably wouldn't notice. Even if I broke one completely, I could shuffle the others round a bit, and I don't think he'd count them… But I _really_ don't want him to throw me in the sea again- ah!"

While he had been deliberating, his magic had made another bid for freedom, and it was almost at the nearest coconut. With a yelp, he called it back so vigorously that he toppled over backwards and barely missed cracking open the coconut behind him with his head. He scrambled to his feet, not daring to relax until he had counted all the coconuts and confirmed that they were safe. Then, heaving another sigh, he sat down cross-legged once again.

"Don't leave the circle. Don't break the coconuts. Oh, but I'm so bored. I wonder if it's actually possible to die of boredom. What if he comes back and there's just my skeleton sat in the circle? That would teach him, wouldn't it?"

Optimistically, he glanced around for something he could construct a fake skeleton out of, but nothing useful presented itself. He did notice the ribbons of light weaving around his fingertips though, so he balled his fists and tried to summon forth that elusive feeling of restraint.

"It's no use. It's just so boring when there's no one around and nothing to do. Actually, that's a point. He's usually on his own on this island, isn't he? How does he stop himself from being bored when there's no one to talk to?"

And then he sat bolt upright. "Oh, I know! He talks to Mavis, doesn't he? I should talk to Mavis too!"

That bold declaration rang a little hollow when a scan of his surroundings revealed that Mavis was being just as invisible as usual. Sheepishly, he muttered, "How does he do this without feeling silly?"

After a moment or two spent burrowing his fingers into the sand, he plucked up his courage and said to nothing in particular, "So, umm, I… hello, Mavis."

When no one laughed at him, he carried on.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Gildarts, though I probably should have introduced myself a while ago. Oh – I wasn't trying to be rude, though! I couldn't just didn't know you were there. So, umm… thanks for letting me stay on the island with you. It's nice here. It's a bit like being on holiday, actually. Well, I've never been on holiday, mummy and daddy didn't like it when I left the house, but Uncle Robin goes camping all the time and he tells me the stories and it sounds like fun. I don't think anyone ever made him sit on a beach and not touch any coconuts while on holiday, though. Have you ever been on holiday?"

A good ten seconds went by before he realized that he wasn't going to get a response.

"Oh, you can't tell me. Well, if you live here, that's like permanently being on holiday, right? You get to go exploring, and you've got so many beaches and friendly animals! But then maybe all your holidays have been really good. I bet you've never had a _bad_ holiday. Maybe I should tell you about the time a hurricane hit Uncle Robin's campsite!"

His one-sided conversation came to a sudden halt. "It's quite a long story, though. Do you want to hear it? It's okay if you don't. I don't want to bore you, even if you are imaginary."

And then he clapped both hands over his mouth, as if he'd said the worst insult imaginable. He added in a muffled whisper, "Don't tell him I said that! He might get upset if he knows I know you're imaginary. It can be our secret, okay?"

Taking the regular lapping of the waves as confirmation, he nodded happily, and began sketching a diagram of Uncle Robin's ill-fated campsite on the sand.

"I'll tell you the hurricane story, then. It was in the middle of summer…"

* * *

As it happened, Zeref hadn't gone far. Despite having fully intended to be on the other side of the island by now, curiosity had got the better of him, and he had lingered behind a pair of palm trees, made invisible by the shadows and the latent magic yet close enough to hear every word of the boy's peculiar one-person dialogue. There might have been a hint of a smile on his face, had anyone been around to see it. "He's a sweet kid," he murmured. "I can see why you like him."

Turning his back on the beach, he began to amble towards the forest. "Still, I have no doubt that he will grow up to be just like every other human being."

A loud cry rang through the air at that, defiant as a lawyer's objection. His skyward gaze caught the shapes of two enormous birds circling far above his head, and he snorted. "You call it pessimism; I call it scientific extrapolation from centuries of reliable data."

For a little while, he walked on in silence.

"You know," he began thoughtfully, "Until he came along, I hadn't realized I had started talking to you out loud."

Out here where no one would see, he was allowed that embarrassed half-smile, that impulsive honesty.

Softer than before, he added, "I miss you. It's strange, but I feel somehow close to you when I'm close to him. I wonder if that's the only reason why I…" Words faded to silence, and again, far from prying eyes, that smile became whole. "No, I don't think so either."

Without the boy trotting at his side, the forest seemed somehow empty. The curiosity which had drawn the island's inhabitants out of hiding, come to peer at the new and unusual and cheerful and excitable figure who walked at the side of the one they had learned to dread, was insufficient to overcome their fear when he was alone. Each colourful pair of eyes vanished from the foliage at his approach, just as they had for countless years.

His thoughts ran in circles as he walked. Usually, when he was alone, he was distant; apathetic; half-awake, or perhaps only half-alive. This time he was deep in thought, trying to tease a solution out of a problem that very much pertained to the real world, and the difference could be observed in the waves of darkness lapping around his ankles.

It had been passive for a while now, that black death. He had hoped it might be hibernating, if curses did such a thing; enticed into dormancy by the Tenrou Tree's lullaby and his own dulled emotions. By now, he knew better. If four decades of almost-unbroken inactivity could be undone in three days – if he could come to care so much in such a short space of time – it too could wake without warning.

It was biding its time. That was all. It could have painted a hateful dawn across this island the moment he had started caring that it didn't, if it had so desired – and it had not so desired only because the one thing it wanted to destroy above all else still lay beyond its reach.

For now.

"The boy has to go," he said to himself. "I need to be alone again, before it's too late."

He came to a stop in front of a tree. There was nothing special about it, save for the fact that it was a woodland tree growing in what looked suspiciously like a rainforest, and even that wasn't out of the ordinary for this island. Cherry blossoms burst from every available branch, bedecking the tree in pink and white. They danced with the breeze, a fairy bride's confetti, and a handful settled atop his head, a poetic contrast to his jet-black hair.

"It doesn't matter if he passes the test or not," he informed the tree. "I suspect that leaving him for so long asks too much of him too soon, but that's not important. What matters is that he tries – and that, by trying, he realizes that it's possible. By taking away the distractions, the obstacles, and all external triggers, it's just his will and his magic. Even if he can only hold it back for two minutes when it's trying to run amok, he learns that he can control it for two minutes independent of everything else. And next time, it'll be three minutes. Then four.

"The difficult part is shifting from no control to some finite duration of control. After that, extending it will only be a matter of time. It's a mindset he's learning, not a skill, and once he has it, the battle is almost over. His magic won't ever be normal, but it won't stop him from leading a normal life either. And, who knows? Such power, and he's still so young. If he wanted it, he could become extraordinary, and for all the right reasons."

Soft branches rustled, and nothing more.

"I know," he agreed. "I'm such a hypocrite. That I force him to try while making no effort myself; that I consider his meaningless existence somehow important; that I should care he finds a way to live happily in this world, while also praying for its destruction…"

He brushed the petals out of his hair and gazed up at the lowest branch of the tree; one that was thick enough for someone small and light to perch upon quite happily. "Then again, isn't contradiction the very nature of my being?" he asked of it wistfully, and he went on his way.

* * *

Zeref wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting to see when he returned to the beach. Broken coconuts, definitely. Sandcastles, probably, whose size depended a little on the length of time since the boy had abandoned the coconut test and a lot on the length of time since his last outburst of power. Perhaps nothing at all, if the boy had got bored and wandered off. (Zeref would be lying if he claimed he hadn't designed the test at least in part to earn himself some peace and quiet.)

But he certainly wasn't expecting… this.

The boy was still there. In fact, true to his word, it looked as though he hadn't moved an inch.

By contrast, the scenery had undergone a drastic change. The tide had spontaneously decided to come in, and thus the ocean had steadily ploughed its way up the beach, leaving the boy sat with water up to his shoulders. He had gathered up the coconuts in his arms, where they bobbed merrily up and down, looking for opportunities to slip out of his grip and set sail.

Before Zeref could comment on this unusual scene, the boy's eyes fell upon him, and he beamed in relief. "Ah! You're back! Thank goodness for that! The tide came in, and I thought that if you didn't come back soon, I was going to drown!"

"…So I see." Zeref had thought it went without saying that breaking the rules was acceptable in the case of mortal peril, but apparently not.

"I didn't break any of the coconuts, though!"

A quick count assured him that, for once, the boy's enthusiasm was justified. "You're right, you didn't. Huh. How did you manage that?"

"I have no idea! Though, I wasn't really thinking about magic once the tide came in. I was too busy trying to work out how not to drown without losing the coconuts."

"Huh," Zeref repeated; an uncharacteristically baffled expression he must have received from the boy in return for his exasperated sighs.

The boy continued, "I know you said not to touch the coconuts, but I had to, because otherwise they would have floated away! Does this mean that I fail?"

"…No, it's fine," came the still-very-bemused response. "You pass."

"I do? Awesome! That means I don't have to go in the sea tonight! Well, I suppose I'm already in the sea, so… Actually, it's really quite cold in here. Can I get out now?"

Zeref stared at him, not entirely sure why he was asking permission. "Yes, you can get out of the sea."

"Oh, good."

The boy attempted to clamber to his feet while still holding all the coconuts, and, predictably, he failed. Heaving a sigh – at least he was back to his own mannerisms – Zeref waded out into the sea to help him up. "You can let go of the coconuts, you know. We don't need them any more."

"Aww, but I wanted to-"

But the boy's coconut-based intentions were to remain a mystery, because it was at that moment that white lines flashed through the heap in his arms and all the coconuts exploded at once. Shell fragments, soft coconut flesh and a shower of liquid went flying in all directions.

Not seeming to care that the parts of him that weren't already submersed were now dripping with coconut water, the boy's eyes lit up with delight. "So _that's_ how you get the milk out! They're not like cows after all!" he exclaimed. "Wait, that doesn't count as breaking the coconuts, right? I mean, you already said I passed, so…"

It was at that moment that he looked up at his companion, and his words dissolved into a strangled gulp. Apparently, the Black Mage didn't share his enthusiasm for being splattered with shredded coconut.

Gildarts swallowed. "Oops," he offered, with his best apologetic smile. "At least we're already in the sea, right? It'll be easy to wash the bits of coconut off." When this optimistic logic failed to lessen the other's glower, he decided to take matters into his own hands. "See, we could just do this."

He cupped his hands beneath the water's surface and attempted to fling it towards his companion, which didn't achieve anything besides annoying him further. "Or maybe not…" the boy muttered. Deciding that it was safest to leave his companion to his own devices, he knelt back down in the shallows and tried splashing water over his own head.

That was when his magic decided to be helpful again. It burst out of him in a sudden and furious attempt to destroy the thing it had designated as being in the way – in this case, the sea. The sea was not destroyed. Instead, it was pushed back in a great geyser-like explosion, and all the displaced water crashed down on Zeref's head.

"Oops…" Gildarts's dreadful whisper entwined with the settling spray as the sea returned to normal, leaving his companion thoroughly drenched. "That was, umm, an accident?"

A dangerous light sparked in Zeref's eyes. "Oh, well, if you want to play it like that…"

He snapped his fingers and a wall of water instantly rose up around him. It swept down upon the startled boy, knocking him straight off his feet. When he resurfaced, spluttering, he was several metres away, and his eyes were wide not with fear but utter awe.

"That was so cool!" he gasped. "Do it again! Do it again!"

"I'm not doing it again," Zeref said crossly. "I shouldn't have done it the first time."

His magic skipped restlessly in the back of his mind, fully awake and eager to be used again. His control remained absolute, but calling magic to him without thinking wasn't a good habit to fall back into – not when he wasn't supposed to be using it at all. The rules were unambiguous on that count… though he couldn't help wondering if they should be a little _more_ ambiguous. He knew better than to give in to the fond and familiar warmth that lingered in his veins, no matter how right it felt, but surely the sheer adoration in the boy's eyes could be trusted. Surely magic used to bring wonder was alright…

And that line of thinking was _precisely_ why he needed to be alone again.

But if that conclusion had already been accepted, to be acted upon at the next available opportunity, what difference did it make what he did with his magic in the meantime?

 _No._

But…

"Aww…" the boy moaned.

Zeref brushed his sodden hair out of his eyes and fished the boy out of the water. "Come on. You need to calm down and put some dry clothes on. It's getting late, and I'm sure you don't want to miss it."

"Miss what?" inquired the boy, squirming in his grip.

"The sunset."

"The sunset? But we can't miss the sunset. It's sort of… hard not to notice, isn't it? There aren't really any roofs here to hide it. Unless we're going in a cave. _Are_ we going in a cave? Oh, are we going to look for bears again?"

As far as Zeref was concerned, that was a wholly inappropriate level of enthusiasm for someone who had almost been eaten (and rightfully so) by the last bear he had met. "No, we're not looking for bears, or any other kind of monster. I have absolutely learnt my lesson on that count. I've never met anyone as eager to walk face-first into danger as you."

Gildarts beamed at him. As far as he was concerned, there was no higher compliment. "Then what _are_ we going to do?"

"You'll see."

* * *

It wasn't long before Gildarts discovered what his companion had meant. After reaching their makeshift camp, Zeref made him change into some dry clothes – a pair of grey shorts hidden by a black t-shirt that came almost to his knees, proudly bearing the name of a band which neither of them had heard of – while he went out in search of food. He kept a careful eye on the reddening sky as they ate, and when they were done, he clambered to his feet and announced, enigmatically, "Right. I think it's time."

"Time for what?"

Rather than answering, however, he beckoned for Gildarts, and the boy padded over at once. "I'm going to need to hold on to you quite tightly, okay?" Zeref checked, thinking about the bruises hidden beneath that oversized t-shirt, and he received a single nod in return. High physical endurance was one of the benefits of possessing far too much magic. Speaking of which: "You'd better keep your magic under control."

"I'll try," came the somewhat dubious response.

After the success with the coconuts, that was good enough for Zeref. He wrapped his arm around the boy's chest from behind, pinning him against his own body. "Now, close your eyes."

"Okay!"

Taking a deep breath – more because it felt like the expected thing to do than to calm any nerves; he knew his magic would be true – he released the restraints upon his power and let it flow as tender shadows into the air around them.

To the boy, stood there with his eyes closed and unable to sense any magic besides the roar of his own, nothing seemed to happen. He had been expecting something dramatic, and after several disappointing seconds, his excitement was beginning to fade. "Umm…" he tried, and when this didn't get a response, he asked, "Can I open my eyes now?"

"Sure."

Gildarts did so – and then closed them, and then opened them again, but the dream failed to disappear. This was reality. They had left the ordinary forest clearing behind, and entered a world of pure colour; of light and freedom and an endless sky.

They were stood at the very top of the Tenrou Tree. Beneath their feet stretched the only bough so high up that was large enough to support the weight of one and a half human beings. Smaller branches and little leaf-bearing twigs wove a delicate nest around them, but even the bravest did not rise above the boy's shoulders – they were higher than anything else on the island. Above the leaves, above the birds, even above the clouds; right then, right there, they were the kings of the world.

"Don't look down," Zeref advised him.

Gildarts immediately looked down, caught a glimpse of the green-gold blur of the island so far beneath them, panicked, and lost his balance. If not for the fact that Zeref was still holding him tightly, he would probably have fallen to his death.

"Oops," he mumbled, apologetic and grateful, which only prompted a growl in response.

"Next time you do something I explicitly tell you not to do, I'm going to let you fall."

"I won't! I promise!"

"Besides, you can look at the ground any time you want. While we're up here, don't you want to look at the sky?"

"What's so special about… _oh._ "

It was twilight: that beautiful confluence of light and shadow, neither night nor day but a shining harmony of both. In the western sky the setting sun was waiting for them, a crown of fire upon the silver-blue sea, spreading radiant pink, soft orange, and noble blue across the heavens. The colours rippled, blurred, merged; steadily darkening as they arced overhead.

But even the deepest indigo of the east was not truly dark. Unwilling to be outdone by the fading sun, the stars were out in all their glory, a handful of resolute gemstones, bright and glittering as the heralds of night.

Here, at the top of the world, they were a part of that ethereal vision; that sky so brilliant it could not possibly be part of the same world as the ground.

"It's… it's amazing…" Gildarts breathed. "I didn't think the sky could get better than last time, but you were right; it definitely, _definitely,_ can. Especially when there's no sea for you to push me into," he added offhandedly, and Zeref rolled his eyes.

The boy twisted in an attempt to break free, and Zeref allowed his grip to loosen, but he kept a very close eye on the boy as he edged along the branch on his own. "That's not all I wanted to show you," he said. "Watch this."

Slowly, carefully, he raised his right foot and stamped it back down. A shockwave ran through the network of branches. From all around them erupted a storm of gold and crimson feathers, as if the sunset itself had been given physical form. The boy let out a startled cry – which echoed as a wordless exclamation of delight, as from their nests in the branches below rose a hundred of the birds he loved so much. Their opal eyes reflected the shining stars; the sun's ruby glow rippled along their long, fluttering tails and trailed like liquid fire from their wings.

Most of them soared up and scattered into the sky; others perched upon the topmost branches, gazing at the boy with the same fearless curiosity he always displayed towards them. He stared as though he couldn't comprehend their existence – as though he couldn't comprehend how he was existing here with them, in this perfect place. He extended his hand to the nearest one, and it immediately took flight, though it did not go far. It remained just beyond his reach, curving and swooping in a stunning display of acrobatics; his own private performance.

The boy glanced over his shoulder to where Zeref still waited, as if in askance. "Go on," the Black Mage told him. "They won't come near me. Just be careful you don't fall."

The birds were giving him a wide berth, as they always did, and as Gildarts shuffled away from him, they became increasingly friendly. All those which had remained in the tree took to the air, and they swooped not around the branches of their home or up into the glorious sky, but around the boy. The soft touch of feathers raced across his cheeks as their wingtips brushed him affectionately; their twisting, slender, powerful bodies stroked against his outstretched palms in passing and were gone. He laughed out loud, and they laughed too, or it felt as though they did. The night came alive with joyous song.

One of the birds perched on his head. It was larger than he was, but as light as air. Its oddly crumpled tail swished back and forth behind him like a living cloak; its wings, spread for balance, gave the impression that he was wearing an oversized crown. Overjoyed, he reached up and petted it, and it trilled its contentment back to him, united by that single beautiful moment; by that bond Zeref could recognize in others but never have himself.

And then, all of a sudden, the bird was fluttering skyward with the rest of its flock as the boy hurtled back along the branch towards Zeref. Predictably, he tripped; Zeref, who hadn't been stupid enough to believe that that wasn't going to happen at least once, was already moving. Magic lent him speed and balance, stretching time for him as easily as a lesser mage might have produced light or shaped energy. He caught the boy effortlessly and held him tight.

"What are you playing at-?" he began, annoyance at this sudden recklessness lacing his tone.

But the boy was crying.

"What's wrong?" Zeref asked, wondering if the bird's talons had hurt him, or if he was scared of being so high up-

Yet the eyes the boy turned towards him, though tearful, were also brighter than ever before – and that really was saying something. "I'm so happy," he sniffed. "I'm so glad that I'm alive right now. Thank you. For everything."

"You're crying because you're happy you're alive…?" Zeref wondered, and then he snorted. "Well, I suppose to other people that might not be such a bizarre sentiment."

* * *

The sun was so far below the horizon now that not a trace of red remained in the sky. It wasn't dark, not beneath an entire universe of stars, but it _was_ late, and so Zeref said, "We ought to go back to the ground soon."

He sensed more than saw the boy pulling a face through the gloom. "Can't we stay up here tonight?"

"No. It's too dangerous. If you roll over in your sleep, you'll die. And before you ask: no, I'm not going to stay awake all night just to make sure you don't fall."

"Aww…" he moaned, but he conceded the point. "Umm, how are we going to get down?"

"The same way we got up."

"And how _did_ we get up?"

"Magic."

"I didn't know you could do magic like that." Rather than proclaim how cool it was, however, the boy's tone became accusing. "If you can move us around the island with magic, why do you always make me walk everywhere?"

"Because walking is good for you."

The boy gave a disgruntled noise; it wasn't the first time he had heard that response from an adult. He shuffled closer along the bough, his great lemur's eyes stained silver with the light of a thousand stars. "That's a really cool power. I wish I could do something like that. How are you doing it, anyway? Can I watch this time?"

"No. I need you to close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want your magic getting disorientated and attempting to deconstruct mine halfway through. We'd probably end up trapped in another dimension."

It was supposed to be a warning, but he had clearly forgotten who he was dealing with; the boy's eyes immediately lit up. "Ooh, can we-?"

 _"No."_

"Another dimension, though! I'd love to see that! I bet it would be so cool!"

"Absolutely not."

After a conspicuous pause for thought, Gildarts said craftily, "Then maybe I'll pretend to close my eyes, and open them when we're moving so that we end up somewhere really awesome."

"In that case, I'll just wait for you to fall asleep, and _then_ I'll take you back to the ground."

"I'll stay awake longer than you do, then!" the boy challenged.

"Staying awake is one thing you are not going to beat me at, kid. That's one side effect of being stuck in a teenage body. When there aren't annoying kids waking me up every morning, I'm practically nocturnal." At the boy's bemused expression, he added, "Besides, the sun's gone down and all the birds have gone to sleep. Don't you think we should do the same?"

"…I suppose."

"Come over here, then."

The boy looked like he was going to object, but when an enormous yawn got the better of him, he conceded defeat and crawled carefully back along the branch. Common sense won out; he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the other's chest, as if to make it clear that he wasn't going to do anything that might endanger them. In fact, he was so unusually quiet that Zeref thought he might have fallen asleep already.

He hadn't, though, and his small voice soon piped up, "Is it safe now? Can I look?"

"Yes, you can look."

A quick glance around the clearing revealed that they really were back on the ground, with a blanket of branches and starlight-painted cherry blossoms once again between them and that glorious sky. The boy's gaze came to rest admiringly upon his companion. "But I didn't feel anything!" he marvelled. "We went from all the way up there to down here and it didn't feel like we were moving at all!"

"That's because I'm actually quite good at this, believe it or not."

Gildarts gave a wistful sigh. "I wish I could be that good with magic."

"It just takes practice. That's all. You're not short of raw power, you just need to learn how to use it. Not that your magic is particularly cut out for subtlety, of course…"

"Do you think…?" the boy ventured, but just as he had that morning, he failed to get to the end of the sentence.

"Do I think what?"

"…Nothing."

"Okay." Zeref dismissed it with a shrug; the answer would mean nothing if the boy had not spoken the question himself. "In that case, go and grab the tent."

Bounding to his feet, the boy dashed across the shadowy clearing, grabbed the folded heap of canvas, and raised it high above his head. The darkness did not so much as slow him down. Perhaps it was because he had begun to think of this unassuming clearing as home, or perhaps it was simply that he was in the presence of someone whom he trusted to look after him, but it seemed his mind no longer conjured ghouls from every shadow or sketched demons behind every tree. He was back a moment later, dropping the not-even-slightly-broken tent at his feet with a triumphant grin.

The moment it had been assembled, he darted inside faster than a rabbit into its burrow, and by the time Zeref had joined him he was already snuggled up inside the sleeping bag. Yet despite the fact that he could have passed for a metamorphosing caterpillar, he displayed an uncanny manoeuvrability. No sooner had Zeref settled himself down than the was boy curled up against his side, sleeping bag and all.

Zeref gave a pointed cough, and when that didn't seem to work, he demanded, "What are you doing?"

"You're warm," the boy pointed out, yawning. "And comfortable."

"If you're cold, I can raise the temperature in here."

"That's not really the point," Gildarts said, bludgeoning away the hint with his usual lack of tact. "I was thinking about how mummy and daddy wouldn't let me hold their hands or hug them because I just hurt them… and even though I know how not to hurt people now, it's too late, and I'll never see them again…" And he seemed to shuffle even closer, if possible. "But then I realized that I have you, and you're kind too…"

This only provoked a disgruntled noise from his companion. "Get back to your own side of the tent." The boy did not move. Softer, but no less insistent, he tried, "Come on, seriously. I'm not exactly your family, am I?"

"No," the boy pondered. "It feels kind of the same, though, don't you think?"

Zeref was silent for a long moment. Not for the first time, he wondered about this boy who had burst so unexpectedly into his life; his smile and his liveliness and his enthusiasm like a little light shining unafraid into the darkness of his existence.

"I wouldn't know," said he, at last. "I think there was a time when family might have meant something to me, but… it has just been so long…"

He wasn't expecting a response, but a small, sleepy voice provided one; the blunt honesty of one too young to understand subtlety, and who saw with astonishing perceptiveness because of it. "Well, it's definitely like this. So, if you forget again, you can just think about the time we went to the top of the huge tree, and then you'll remember."

Zeref opened his mouth, and closed it again without a word. His second attempt to speak likewise ended in a sigh, because even he could no more lie to the boy than he could adopt his carefree mindset.

"Regardless," he said, "I'd like my personal space back, if you wouldn't mind."

But the boy was already asleep.

"Seriously?" He glared down at the boy, who was curled up blissfully against his side, and sighed yet again, his scowl abating. He couldn't – he just _couldn't_ – stay angry when he was around. "People shouldn't be this happy around me," he grumbled. "It's as if all those years of building up a reputation were for nothing."

And with that, he edged as far away as he could from the boy without leaving the tent, and picked up his carving project. He didn't try to sleep. He knew he wouldn't be able to. As he cut runes one by one into the wood, he thought about a person he hadn't thought about in a long time, and he wondered if it was as lonely outside time as it often was inside it.


	9. A Responsible Adult

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Nine – A Responsible Adult**

On the fourth and final morning, Zeref woke up first.

It wasn't the sluggish awakening he had come to associate with his body's refusal to accept that he was not, in fact, a growing teenager. He came awake in an instant and was at once fully alert, as if he hadn't been asleep at all. There was no sign of what could have woken him so suddenly – nothing moved in the silent forest; the grey pre-dawn light had yet to penetrate the expensive tent; the boy was, for once, still soundly asleep – but there was only one thing it could have been: danger. It wasn't the kind that hid in the shadows with fangs bared, but that only made it worse. Monsters were easy to drive away. This kind of situation, not so much.

Sitting up, he reached over to shake the boy's shoulder. "Kid, wake up."

"Whazza?" the boy mumbled, squinting up at him blearily. Then he sat bolt upright, eyes the size of dinner plates, and yelled, "Don't break the coconuts!"

Zeref blinked, bemused, as Gildarts looked around and finally realized where he was. "Oops," he said, with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry about that…"

"Don't be. As far as I'm concerned, yelling about coconuts is a step up from trying to tear my body apart, which is what I thought you would do when I woke you up."

The boy beamed at him. "Why did you wake me up, anyway? What's going on? How come you're awake before me?"

"The barrier is down."

"What barrier?"

"The one that stops people from finding this island."

"…Huh."

Apparently, this was news to the boy. Zeref supposed he shouldn't be surprised; it would take many years of training before the boy would be able to see the subtle shimmer of the barrier's magic for what it was. The inner barrier, the force field, was still in place, but if it was Mavis's guild approaching – and in all likelihood, it was – they would be able to pass straight through it.

The boy continued, "What does it mean, that it's down? Is it a problem?"

"It means that your friends are back."

"My… friends? I don't have any friends. Only you. And you're already here."

"The people who sent you to this island. They must have come back for you."

"NO!" The sudden fear in the boy's shout tore through the early morning serenity like… well, like his own magic through the poor island's scenery, so at least the atmosphere now matched the physical environment. "No, no, no! We've gotta hide!"

"…Hide?"

The boy was already gathering up his clothes, intent on heading deeper into the jungle with all his worldly possessions. "Yeah! We've got to hide! They're the ones who abandoned me on this island! They were probably trying to kill me! Maybe they've come back to finish the job!"

"…Yeah, I really don't think that's what happened, kid," Zeref sighed.

"You don't know!" he shouted back. "You weren't there! You didn't see them!"

"True, but I do know Mavis, and I know Mavis's guild. Murdering children isn't really their style." At the boy's excellent impression of a distrustful rabbit, he swept his hand around to indicate the tent they were sat in. "Kid, look at all this stuff they left you with. Magical tents are expensive – not to mention the sleeping bag, clothes, food, and other survival tools we've been using. If you hadn't let your magic run wild and destroy most of what they gave you, you could have lived here quite comfortably for several days. The fact that they're coming back now is clear evidence that they intended for you to survive until they could take you home again."

"But… they left me here, all alone…"

"What else could they have done with you? Going by the state you were in when I found you, you'd been destroying everything that came close to you since the accident that killed your parents. If I had been anyone else, you'd have torn me apart days ago. So, they sent you here, where there aren't any people around for you to hurt – and in the meantime, I imagine they've been doing all they can to find a way of subduing your magic so that they can talk to you."

"Then… you don't think they've come back to kill me?"

"Of course not. I bet they're back because they've found some ancient ritual or something that can temporarily bind your power, and they want to use it to take you safely back to the mainland. They're here to try and save you, not kill you."

After a moment's thought, Zeref added, "This is a good island. Even if I hadn't been here, it would have looked after you. This is the sort of place you send someone when you want to help them, not when you want to destroy them. Believe me, I know."

"I guess," the boy conceded, pausing halfway through a futile attempt to pack the sleeping bag into a holder he would have sworn was three sizes too small. "I suppose it has been a while since I destroyed anything big, thanks to you. Do you think they might have sent me here to meet you, then?"

It wasn't the first time the idea had occurred to Zeref. And he certainly wouldn't put that kind of meddling past Mavis and her troublesome guild, but… "It's not possible. No one knows I'm here."

"Mavis knows," the boy pointed out.

"Well, she's hardly in a position to be divulging that information, is she?"

"Because she's invisible?"

He stared at the boy for a long moment. "Yeah," he said, softly. "Because of that." Then he gave a definitive shake of his head. "There's no way anyone knows I'm here. We'd have heard about it if they did. To be honest, I doubt the people who sent you here were intending for you to learn any means of controlling your power; they simply wanted to buy themselves time. You should go and meet them. Show them how much you've learnt."

The boy's horror, which had diminished with the acceptance that no one was trying to murder him after all, sprung back to life at once. "But I don't want to see them!" he blurted out. "I don't want to go back with them! I want to stay here on the island with you!"

"Well, that's out of the question."

"Why?"

 _Because in a few hours, the power that Mavis has been siphoning from the Tenrou Tree with which to protect you will no longer be sufficient, and you will die at my hands,_ Zeref thought, but he didn't say it out loud. Instead, he went with the explanation that should have been the first to jump into his mind: "Because I've put up with you for four days now, and it's high time someone else took a turn."

"But," protested the boy, who had redoubled his efforts to pack away the sleeping bag, "I don't want to leave!"

"Look, kid…" Zeref lifted the sleeping bag out of the boy's hands, but rather than helping to fold it up, he paused. Silence fell upon the tent; the kind that was too loud for even a child to interrupt. "You can't stay here. You can't accomplish anything if you don't leave the island. A life spent here is a worthless life."

"But there's _loads_ to do here! I want to explore the whole island, and see all the animals, and play on the beaches, and look for monsters in the tunnels, and go to the top of the tree again and see the stars!" the boy burst out, finishing only because of the need to draw breath.

"That's not the point, and you know it," Zeref countered. "There is no family for you here, nor friends; no one to learn from or to teach; no one to share your experiences with, or to tell the stories of your adventures to, or to care for you when you are sad. There is no purpose to your existence here; no one and nothing to prove that you lived."

"I…" The boy shuffled his feet. "Well, there's you, isn't there?"

An alarming red light burst to life in his companion's eyes, and the boy took a step back with a sharp intake of breath. "Don't drag me into this," Zeref snapped, striding out of the tent.

The boy was frozen to the spot as fear waged war against the certainty that being left alone in the middle of an argument wasn't a good idea. Pulling himself together – running away on his own wouldn't be looked upon favourably by the jury when it came to pleading his case to stay – he gave his head a firm shake and hurried after Zeref, catching up with him on the edge of the clearing.

The Black Mage had stopped with his dark gaze turned towards the sky. He did not seem to notice the boy's presence, and he was radiating such an unapproachable aura that the boy thought it was probably best not to announce his arrival, and instead wait timidly until he was addressed.

"What are they doing?" Zeref murmured to himself, still staring avidly at the sky; focussing on something else in that age-old trick to control emotions that he had elevated from a coping mechanism to an art form. "Why don't they just come through?"

Gildarts looked up too, but he could not see the barrier, so he watched a pair of birds swooping through the brightening blue instead.

After a moment, the other answered his own question. "Oh, I see. They're altering the barrier to temporarily allow people without the guild mark to enter. It's more reversible than breaking through by force, I suppose… still, it won't be quick or easy. They're certainly going to a lot of effort for you, kid."

The boy seemed to take that as an assurance that he was allowed to speak without being snapped at again. In a quiet voice, he chose what he thought was a safe question: "How can you tell what they're doing from here?"

"I can sense the barrier. I see it change as they change it, and I know enough about it to work out what they must be doing."

"You really do know a lot, don't you?"

Calmer now; his eyes, back to their normal reticent black, flicked briefly down to meet the boy's before darting off across the trees. "I've spent a lot of time studying magic. There is so much out there to learn – from the enormous libraries and all the secrets they hide; from the great mages of the world and the creatures of magic; from first-hand experience. You can't do any of that from this island."

"But you know all that stuff, and you're stuck here."

"I travelled a lot when I was younger. This island is more or less my retirement home, for as long as I can stand to be retired. I'm here precisely because I travelled too far and interfered too much, and now I need to be kept away from all the exciting parts of the world before I break something beyond repair. There's more to see out there than you can possibly imagine."

"I can imagine quite a lot," the boy said doubtfully.

"Then why not go out there and prove me wrong?" There was a small smile upon Zeref's face. If it was sad, if it was faint, it was only because it was true. "The world is vast, and it contains so many wonders; far more than you will ever be able to see from this small corner of it. You'd love it, kid, you really would."

"I…"

The boy couldn't bring himself to say anything else, so the island picked up the slack, filling the silence with chirps and rustles and yowls; symphonies from a hundred different environments merging into one unique dawn chorus. Zeref was still watching the sky, though it seemed his attention too had turned to the playing birds. He absentmindedly slung the sleeping bag, now lined with dust from where it had been dragged along the floor, over his shoulder.

"Kid," he began, even more softly than before. "Why don't you ask me the question you've been trying to ask for the past couple of days?"

The boy glanced down at the ground. "No, it's silly. You'll just laugh."

"I won't laugh."

Gildarts shuffled his feet uncomfortably. It had not rained for days, and the motion kicked up a small cloud of dust, which settled atop his oversized trainers. It was to these trainers that he mumbled, "Well… do you think that I might be able to use my magic to help people with?"

When there was no immediate response, he added, speaking more quickly and more quietly than before, "I always hated my power, because it caused trouble for everyone, and it's not useful like all the cool stuff you can do. But without it, I wouldn't have been able to free the trapped bird… And then it helped me get the boar away from you when I thought it was going to eat you, and when we were running away from the bear – I know I messed up and destroyed the bridge too soon but if I had been able to control it properly, then we might… No, see, I told you it was silly… You'll just laugh…"

Zeref did not laugh. He rested his hand gently atop the boy's stark ginger hair, and when Gildarts looked up anxiously, he was smiling. "Yes," he said. "I think that is something you can do, if you are willing to work hard."

"But," he interrupted, "I don't know… all I can do is destroy things…"

"Sometimes things need to be destroyed. There are enemies who need to be defeated, and obstacles that can only be removed by force. Yes, yours is a power that can cause great devastation, but, by choosing when and where to use it, it is also a power that can protect those you care about from any threat, just like you tried so hard to protect me when you thought I was in danger from the boar."

He chuckled softly and ruffled the boy's hair before letting his hand fall back to his side. "Once you've mastered controlling your power, you'll have a choice to make. You'll be able to seal your magic away and never use it again, and thus you'll be able to live an ordinary life in ordinary society. But you don't have to stop there. You can learn to _use_ your magic; to make it come at your call and take the form you wish it to; to fight with it and protect those around you. Do that, and you could accomplish incredible things."

The boy was staring numbly at his hands; at the white lines that inched into the air and then faded, like slow-motion lightning. "You really think I can do all that? Not just control this power, but actually use it for good?"

"Is that what you want?"

"I… I think… yes. Yes, that's what I want."

"Then I have no doubt you will be able to achieve it. You have enormous potential as a mage – and that's not something I would say lightly."

The boy's words came out as a bashful, strangled gulp.

"Besides," Zeref continued, "If it doesn't quite work out as planned with your magic, you've always got a bright future ahead of you as a human vegetable dicer."

At this, the boy tried to laugh and burst into tears instead. He buried his face in his companion's robes, sobbing. Zeref patted him awkwardly on the head.

 _You can't ask a man who wants to die to give you a reason to live,_ he thought to himself. _But if you can find one on your own, I'll give you all the support I can._

When the boy looked up again, there were still tears glistening on his cheeks, and yet he somehow appeared happier than Zeref had ever seen him. "Okay," he said, and although he sniffed, there was resolution in his voice. It was small and it was scared, but it was _there,_ and it would grow with him until titanium resolve and exceptional magic fused into a hammer capable of smashing down any barrier life could raise against him. "Then that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to explore the entire world and use my power to help the people and the animals I meet!"

There was a somewhat anticlimactic pause.

"So, uh… how do I do that, exactly?"

"First of all, you need to find the people who have come for you and leave the island with them." Zeref stuffed the sleeping bag into its pack, tightened the drawstring, and handed it back to the boy, as if the matter was settled.

"But…"

"And there I thought you had made up your mind."

"I have, it's just… I can't be with other people. I'll hurt them. I can control my magic a bit now, but not very well. I'm always destroying trees and things, which is going to be a problem if I end up living in someone's house, and I know I still hurt you by accident before I realize. Wherever I go or whatever I try to do, it's bound to end in me making things worse for people…"

"Alright, kid, you're annoying me now." This came as a terse snap that made the boy glance up in almost-forgotten fear. "Yes, you're going to hurt people before you've fully mastered control, and yes, you're probably always going to break things – but so what? As long as you're trying to be careful – to learn – to improve – what does it matter if you make mistakes along the way? You've hurt me enough times, and I don't care, do I? It hasn't made me abandon you, because I know how hard you're trying! If you want to explore the world, then go out there and do it. Stop running away, and stop acting like you don't deserve to live properly. You have as much right to seek happiness in life as anyone else!"

Astonished silence followed this outburst. Even the island agreed that this was the appropriate response.

Zeref didn't seem too happy about it either, because he folded his arms and added crossly, "Or, that's what Mavis says, anyway."

The boy blinked at him. "…Mavis said all that?"

"Yes, she did," he snapped, as if daring the boy to contradict him. "It's hardly the sort of thing _I_ would say, is it?"

"Well, actually…" the boy mumbled, but he didn't quite dare to finish that sentence.

Zeref shifted uncomfortably and looked up at the sky again, though the boy suspected there had been no change in the barrier. "Well," he relented, "It's what she would have wanted to say to you, if she were here, and I'm sure she would have kept pestering me until I'd said it for her, so… Anyway, you can tell it's from her because it's utterly useless advice. Let me give you some more practical advice, from me this time."

Thoroughly confused, the boy just nodded.

"If you get the chance, stay around other mages as much as you can. You've still got a lot to learn when it comes to magic, and they'll be able to help with that. You'll struggle on your own. More importantly, though, you're a lot less likely to do serious damage to mages if your power goes out of control. They'll be more resistant to magic and better able to defend themselves from it. At the very least, they'll be used to getting hurt; it's an occupational hazard for those of us who deal in magic." He gave a faint smile – a sign his intense mood was dissipating once again, as it always did when the boy was around. "You will find it a lot more difficult to accidentally hurt those who are strong in magic, just as it is impossible for you to do any lasting damage to me."

"Stay close to mages, okay, got it," repeated the boy, with a determined nod. "I can definitely do that! Though… how do I find mages? There weren't any in my village, and I've never met anyone like you before."

"Guilds are the best place to find mages. I imagine most major cities have one by now. Honestly, that's the sort of environment you'll do best in – at least until you're capable of looking after yourself."

"What _is_ a guild? Uncle Robin mentioned them a couple of times, but… what do mages actually _do_ there?"

Zeref gave a sigh. "I'm not really the person to ask."

"But there's no one else I _can_ ask," the boy countered. "Except Mavis, but she can't answer me… though, you're good at knowing what Mavis is saying. Do you know what she'd say, if I asked her what a guild was?"

"That's not how it…" Zeref began, before tailing off. Because sometimes that was _exactly_ how it worked; sometimes the words he had no right to know came to him as surely as if she were right there saying them. Swallowing, he started again. "She'd tell you that it's a place to come home to. When your adventures have taken you to the ends of the earth and back; when you've returned with long-lost treasures and new regions filled in on the map and a thousand and one tales of heroism… that's where you go to tell them. It's family. It's home. That's what she'd tell you… she's sentimental like that."

"That sounds _amazing,_ " the boy breathed, his eyes shining.

 _Yeah, you're definitely one of hers,_ Zeref reflected ruefully. In the interests of balance, he added, "Well, there are a lot of different guilds out there. I'm sure there's one that will consider the risk to their guildhall worth it to acquire a new member with such huge magical potential."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Go and explore. You'll find somewhere to belong, and it will be a hundred times more exciting than this little old island. Oh, and I have something that might help you not get thrown out straight away."

Zeref held out his hand and there was a burst of light, which receded to leave him grasping a sturdy wooden staff. It was slightly shorter than the boy, and every square inch of its surface was carved with runes in a language lost to all but the most learned scholars. At its end rested a small orb of crystal. In the absence of any proper crafting materials, the crystal had been fixed to the staff using a clumsy cradle of vines.

"You fixed it!" the boy exclaimed, leaning in for a better look.

"I only finished it late last night, so I haven't had the chance to test it yet," he warned, but he seemed pleased with himself nonetheless.

Gildarts gazed up at him bemusedly. "You know, if you didn't stay up so late creating magical objects, you might find it easier to wake up in the morning."

"Don't get smart with me, kid," Zeref scowled, rapping the boy on the head with the crystal-free end of the staff. "Go and stand over there. I want to see if it works."

When the boy had scrambled to the edge of the clearing, he pushed the end of the staff into the ground, so it stood upright, and then lifted his hands away apprehensively. Nothing happened at first. But the boy was watching with undiminished anticipation, not doubting for a second that something fascinating was about to take place, and despite himself, Zeref had to bite back a smile.

Then a warm violet light sprung to life in the crystal. It poured forth like viscous liquid, slipping down the staff and filling each row of runes with ethereal purple. The whole thing was shining, that crude, hand-made artefact; a fusion of broken technology and an unrivalled knowledge of magic, no weaker for having lain unused for so many years. From nowhere, there was suddenly a barrier around the clearing: a four-foot-high wall which formed a ring centred upon the staff. It was translucent, a magical shimmer rather than a physical shield, consisting of the same soft violet that still radiated from the crystal.

The boy let out a cry of delight and ran towards the barrier from the outside – only to skid to a halt just as quickly, remembering at the last minute that he shouldn't touch it, in case he broke it and ruined all the other's hard work. He settled for staring at it from so close that he went cross-eyed. "Whoa. It's so pretty. And it'll stop monsters from getting through, right?"

"It's hardly a perfect defence, but it should hold up well enough against any animal not big enough to step over it," came the cool response. "But that's not all it does, now that I've modified the runes. Touch it."

"But I'll break it."

"Do it anyway."

"Well, if you're sure…" The boy pressed both his palms to the wall and pushed. As he had feared, it didn't take long before cobweb-like cracks of white blossomed from his fingertips, their curiosity piqued by this semi-substantial wall of light.

"I told you," he said miserably, and that concession was the cue for those cracks to race across the entire violet wall with their usual merciless speed.

But the wall didn't shatter. It sat there quite happily, pulsating faintly, heedless to the great jagged lines traced across it. As the boy gaped, the crystal at the centre shone a little brighter, and the violet light seemed to flow together – sealing the cracks and leaving the barrier unharmed.

" _Whoa_ ," he breathed again, with even more feeling than before. He backed away from the barrier with eyes brighter than the lacrima. "You made a barrier I can't break!"

"I worked out a counter to your magic, and wrote it into the runes," Zeref said, as he tried not to look smug and failed. Four decades of inactivity, no runic dictionaries to hand, and nothing but improvised tools – and he still totally had it. "The barrier won't hold out for very long if you really try to break it down, but at the unrefined level that your subconscious uses your magic at, it appears to work fairly well."

The boy wasn't listening. He seemed to have taken the wall's resistance to his magic as a personal challenge, and was now attempting to break through by hurling his whole – though admittedly unimpressive – body weight against it. "This is-" he panted, flinging himself at the barrier, bouncing off, landing on his backside, and jumping straight back to his feet, "-so cool!"

"This time, I think you've got that right." Zeref plucked the staff out of the ground, causing the barrier to vanish just as the boy threw himself towards it again, with the _completely_ unintended result that he landed flat on his face. "Anyway, you can keep this. Even if you end up in a place without monsters, it might not be a bad idea to sleep with the barrier up around you for the first few nights. Waking up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people, is exactly the sort of thing that is likely to set your magic off, and the less destruction you can do to other people's property while they're in the process of deciding whether or not they like you, the better."

And with a faint smile, he added, "After all, they might not think of throwing you in the sea."

"I don't think I'm going to suggest the sea option to them," came the grave response.

"Good idea." Zeref handed over the staff and the boy held it reverently. "Be careful with that. The barrier can repel your magic but the staff itself is just a lump of wood; if you break it like you did the last one, the whole thing will stop working."

"I'll be careful," promised the boy, although his earnest words were somewhat undermined by the way he immediately tossed the object over his shoulder. With his hands now free, he launched himself at his companion and wrapped both arms tightly around his waist.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, trying ineffectually to prise the boy off him. "So, you're going to go back with them, aren't you?"

"I… I guess…" Affirmation came at the cost of jubilance; the anxiousness he had forgotten returned in full force.

"Then pick up everything you want to take with you," Zeref instructed, as if he hadn't noticed the change in mood.

The boy cast a longing glance his way, but when his companion did not react, he did as he was told. He scurried around the clearing in silence, gathering up his borrowed possessions. The best-fitting clothes were shoved into a mostly intact rucksack, which he slung onto his back, and he picked up the staff and the sleeping bag.

"I don't think I can carry the tent as well…" he said doubtfully.

"Leave it here, and you can always lead the people you meet back to pick it up later."

"Okay." Gildarts took a deep breath, mustered all the courage hidden within his tiny body, and asked, "Will you come down to the beach with me?"

Zeref grimaced. "I really shouldn't…"

"Please?"

"Alright."

He didn't protest as the boy timidly held onto his hand, not even when those painful white lines, a symptom of the boy's nervousness, began to creep up his arm. They walked towards the only cove on the island where it was deep enough to moor a ship.

The boy asked, "Are they, umm, through the barrier now?"

"Yes."

"Oh," he responded, dismayed, as if that invisible shield had been his last hope.

They walked a little further. The trees were beginning to thin. The boy thought he knew where they were; he was learning the layout of the island just in time for him to leave it.

"Are you _sure_ they're not going to kill me?"

"Quite sure."

"But what if they don't like me?"

"What does it matter? You won't have to stay with them if you don't want to. Kid, no one in the world will ever be able to hold you against your will, and if you spend long enough travelling, you'll find someone who can accept you for who you are. No matter how unlikely it seems." A small smile, a sad smile, and he fought it down before any unruly emotion could run away with him. He had to be the stoic one here. He was the responsible adult. "Though, I'll tell you this – you're a lot easier to like when you're happy and cheerful and excited than when you're gloomy. If you're ever in doubt, smile."

"But _you_ don't smile very much."

"That's because I don't care about being liked."

" _I_ like you."

"Well, you're a peculiar child, aren't you?"

The boy did not respond to that. He probably considered it a compliment.

Other voices reached their ears at last: distant; unfamiliar; shouting out the boy's name. His grip on his friend's hand tightened, the only sign that either of them had heard.

The safety of the forest was far behind them now. Without any trees to hide behind, the boy felt suddenly exposed. He pressed himself closer to his companion, as if the wind were amongst the monsters he feared and adored in equal measure, and they approached the edge of the cliff from which Zeref had first observed the strangers' arrival. From here, they could see down into the cove – which, sure enough, now played host to a dozen people, each of whom was calling for the boy.

"I'm scared," said the boy, suddenly and quite unnecessarily.

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"But if I'm scared, I might start breaking things again…"

"If that happens, stay calm, take a deep breath, and control your magic. It's perfectly acceptable to be afraid of meeting new people, but there's no need to feel the same way about your own power, especially when you know that you can control it if you try. That magic is going to take you places, kid. Don't lose sight of that."

"I won't," he promised, and he looked a little happier.

"Now, you should go, before they start trampling all over my island in search of you. That path there will take you to the cove-"

"You're not coming down with me?"

"I can't," Zeref said, softly. "There are those down there who will know me for who I am. You have to go down on your own."

"But… if something happens…"

"I'll be right here."

After a moment's consideration, the boy gave him the broadest smile he had ever seen in his life. "Yeah."

"Then go."

"Are you gonna be okay here on your own, though?"

Zeref blinked. "Why wouldn't I be? I was doing fine before you came along, wasn't I?"

"I don't know," answered the boy truthfully, tilting his head to one side as if to turn his full powers of deduction towards the problem. "You didn't smile at all when I met you, but today, you've been smiling quite a lot."

"Maybe I'm just happy to be finally getting rid of you," Zeref grumbled. "First thing I'm going to do when you've left is go straight back to sleep." _In more ways than one,_ he added inwardly. _Before I can get too carried away with being alive again, for everyone's sake. Yours more than anyone's._

The boy gave him a dubious look that he conceded his half-hearted tone fully deserved, and he sighed. "It's been fun, kid, but I need to be alone. And you need to _not_ be alone – you need a family and a home."

The necessity of it made it easy; easier than he had feared. He removed his hand from the boy's grasp – yet still the kid did not leave. There was a strange expression on his face as he searched for the right words and failed to find anything sufficient to convey his feelings. "I…"

 _He could stay,_ Zeref thought suddenly. _Half a day. Maybe a whole day. Mavis's guild won't give up so easily; they probably won't leave until they find him, and I can evade them for that long. We could go exploring again. We'd find so many monsters in that time. The Tenrou Tree's protection hasn't run out yet. I can push it right up until the moment it expires; it won't be_ that _much of a risk if I'm careful-_

"Go," he said.

The boy looked as though he wanted to argue, but he seemed to realize it would be easier for them both if he did not. He took a step backwards, reshuffled the bag and the staff tucked under his arm, and nodded once – and then he was gone, tearing off towards the cove, his unstoppable enthusiasm disrupting the sedentary life of Tenrou Island for one final time before the twisting trail took him out of sight.


	10. A New Home

**It Was Like A Little Light**

By CrimsonStarbird

* * *

 **Ten – A New Home**

"Ah, Tenrou Island."

The speaker gave an appreciative sigh, drinking deep of the warm air and the familiar magic of the land. His joints creaked as he stretched – the only ordinary indication of his advancing age, for the years were treating him differently than they would another man. Rather than wrinkling, the skin around his face and hands had hardened into bark-like natural armour. He was not balding, nor was his hair greying with age – as Makarov's had done more in the past few days than the rest of his life put together – but it curled more vigorously than ever before, a shade of mossy green.

Yet it was not nosiness with which the guild mages regarded this unusual man, but something akin to reverence: they would all have recognized the signs of someone so powerful that his magic was slowly mutating his outward appearance, even if they had not known this man by reputation. No sooner had they lowered the gangplank for him than the Fairy Tail mages stood aside, allowing Warrod Sequen to descend first onto the island.

"It's been too long," he remarked, gazing fondly up and down the rocky shelf, before turning towards the Tenrou Tree with the same wistful smile with which he would greet an old friend.

"So, this is Fairy Tail's holy ground?" marvelled a handsome, dark-haired man, coming to stand by Warrod's side. It had not been an argument that had led Bob to leave Fairy Tail and form his own guild, but a difference in style: the mages of Blue Pegasus were notoriously popular with male and female clients alike, and their Master more so than any of them. His eyes swept across their otherworldly surroundings, trying to take in all the exotic scenery in one go. "If I'd known Fairy Tail had its own private holiday resort, I'd have had second thoughts about leaving!"

"We're hardly here for the beaches, are we?" This unimpressed response came from a woman, whose hair was pulled into a tight bun, while a crimson cloak drawn around her shoulders formed a barrier between her and other people. Yet despite her reprimand of the laid-back man, she could not stop her own gaze from jumping to the most unusual of the plants in view, as if she itched to examine them closely – or perhaps add them to the bag of medicinal herbs already slung over her shoulder.

A short man, possibly even shorter than Makarov, patted her elbow; it was the highest part of her he could reach. "You say that, but not even you could resist a trip out to see old Tenrou Island, could you, Porlyusica?" Yajima grinned. She harrumphed and took two firm steps away from the growing crowd of mages, reinstating the minimum preferred distance between herself and other human beings.

There was another man staring just as intently as Porlyusica at the scenery, but where the healer was eyeing the vivid flowers and creeping vines and huge trees trampled by huger beasts with appraisal, he looked only fearful. In the bright light of day, his hair was as starkly ginger as that of his sister and nephew. "This is where he's been, on his own, for four whole days?" Uncle Robin whispered. "Oh, Gildarts, I'm so sorry…"

The man beside him would have clapped him supportively on the back, if not for the fact that Porlyusica had spent the entire journey snapping at anyone who so much as _looked_ at the rune-covered sling supporting Robin's broken arm, let alone did anything to disturb it. Between his cool shades, questionably cool spiked collar, and distinctly uncool stack of arcane tomes held under one arm, Goldmine of Quatro Cerberus appeared rather odd, but his upbeat confidence had quickly endeared him to Robin.

"I know the island looks scary, but the magic here's strong and safe," Goldmine promised. "I know it's not so reassuring when you can't sense it yourself, but we _do_ know a thing or two about magic, despite what you'd think from looking at us."

Indeed, they made a strange crowd. Some were Fairy Tail mages, some not, but all of them had growing reputations as powerful or knowledgeable practitioners of magic, and all were united here today by their friendship towards the man who had sought their help. They broke off their conversations and turned to watch as Makarov disembarked from the ship, Ivan at his side.

Unlike the others, Makarov did not comment on the wonders of the island. He stared at his hands and whispered, "But what if he's dead?"

It was not the first time he had asked that question. A few of the others exchanged glances behind his back – though he wouldn't have noticed if they had expressed their mingled concern and exasperation to his face. He continued to wring his hands, as if unaware that they had reached their destination.

Just as he had for the past ninety-nine times Makarov had spoken those words, Warrod placed a hand upon the Guild Master's shoulder. "He won't be," he said, in those deep, comforting tones of his. "The magic of the island will have kept him safe. Bringing him here was the right decision. Now, we just need to find him."

But the hundredth iteration of this response didn't reassure Makarov any more than the ninety-ninth had, or the ninety-eighth; the Guild Master was far too enveloped in horror to be swayed by the logic of those who had no reason to feel guilty.

Warrod took charge. "Locating the boy – Gildarts – is our top priority. Send a signal immediately if you find him, and convince him to come back here peacefully if you can. That being said, from what I've heard, there is a high chance he will be emotionally and magically unstable, so be on your guard. Understood?"

The mages nodded and scattered to systematically comb the island. Swallowing his trepidation, Robin followed Porlyusica's group into the jungle (several days as her patient had convinced him that she was scarier than anything the island had to offer). Warrod remained on the beach, at Makarov's side. He was clearly worried about the Guild Master's condition.

And although he might not have admitted it, Ivan was worried too; he cast more than one apprehensive glance at his father as he strode across the rocks. Makarov appeared to have aged five years in the past five days. Ivan had not once caught his father asleep during that time: whenever he wasn't writing to the kingdom's most powerful mages to request their help or scanning every single book in the library for information on wild magic, he was pacing back and forth, murmuring to himself, apologizing to ghosts, and praying for the boy's safety.

Ivan had felt annoyance at first, and perhaps even jealousy, that Makarov was pushing himself so hard for the sake of some kid that wasn't even part of the guild. But as the bags under his father's eyes had swollen, and his grief and regret had deepened, Ivan too had caught himself worrying about the boy's fate. He hoped that the whole situation would be resolved soon, if just to let things get back to normal around the guild. He didn't want to think about the consequences of finding the boy dead.

"Hey, dad!" he called, indicating the crates left in the cove: one which was a complete wreck, one that had held mushed food before it had been cleaned out by wild animals, and one whose contents had been emptied onto the ground and deliberately sorted through, leaving behind a pile of broken objects. "He's taken the useful things with him – that's a good sign, right?"

But the uncharacteristic despair, the hopelessness that had taken up permanent residence upon his own father's face, did not shift. "A wild beast could have done that," Makarov protested hollowly.

"What use would a wild beast have for a magical tent?" scowled Ivan. "Pull yourself together. We're going to need your protective magic for when we find him, so you'd better be ready."

Makarov did not seem to notice that his own son was telling him off. He just kept gazing out into the jungle, waiting for the sign that would prove once and for all that he was a failure of a Guild Master who couldn't even help one boy…

"Makarov. Makarov!"

He completely failed to process Warrod's words until the tree-mage gave his shoulder a vigorous shake. "Look," Warrod continued, a calm and stable counterpoint to the nightmares whirling in Makarov's mind. "Is that him?"

Makarov looked, shaded his eyes against the sun, and then looked again. He did not speak.

But even if he did not dare to acknowledge the figure running towards them, lest it turn out to be another hopeless mirage, Ivan and Warrod could see it clearly. The distinct form of a young boy emerged from the cliffs and hurtled towards them, bearing a rucksack almost as large as he was on his back and wildly waving a staff above his head.

He looked just as they remembered – small, thin, underfed, and dressed in mismatched clothes which all seemed to fail to fit him in different ways – but with one exception: he wasn't crying. In fact, as he drew close enough for them to make out the expression on his face, there was a moment when they could have sworn he looked _joyful…_

But the flash of happiness was gone, consumed by abject fear. The boy's panic-stricken screech reached them over the sound of the waves: "No, no, no!" And then he was skidding to a stop, clutching the staff tightly to his chest, panting, "I told him this would happen, I _told_ him-!"

"He's alive…" Makarov breathed.

As the Guild Master clearly hadn't registered the danger in the boy's crackling magical presence, it was with Ivan that Warrod exchanged a worried glance. "Yeah, he's alive," Ivan said shortly. "But _we_ won't be for much longer unless you get your act together-!"

His son's shout seemed to bring him to his senses. Makarov brought his hands together and called forth his immense power, and three stone monoliths rose out of the earth around the boy; a reverse-defensive spell sealing him within its impenetrable barrier. It wasn't a moment too soon – the boy gave another wordless shout and a tempest of white energy burst out of his body. His power raged against the shield but could not penetrate it-

And then the shield vanished. It didn't crack, it didn't break apart – it simply vanished. The Guild Master's strongest defensive magic was gone as though he had never cast it.

"Makarov!" Warrod exclaimed.

At the same time, Ivan was shouting, "What are you playing at? Don't lose control _now!_ "

"I- I didn't!" Makarov gasped, his face white. "I didn't- it just-"

His protests were lost in the thundering crack of the boy's freed magic. It was someone else whose voice rose above the chaos in a firm shout: _"Stop it!"_

It was a long moment before any of them realized it was the boy who had spoken. He wasn't crying, he wasn't screaming, he hadn't slipped into the full panic attack of the last time they had seen him – he stood his ground with his arm out in front of him, all his attention focussed on his clenched fist, taking heavy but steady breaths, and looking utterly, utterly determined.

"No," he was saying to himself. "You can't hurt them. You can't."

And, acquiescing to that verbal command like a sentient being, the grid of white lines stopped spreading and collapsed back in on itself, shimmering upon the boy's skin and then disappearing for good. Only when there was no trace of erratic magic left did he look at the three mages gaping at him and offer them a relieved smile.

"…Okay," began Ivan, breaking the silence. "Would anyone care to tell me what just happened?"

Apparently the answer to that question was 'no', because rather than replying, Makarov dashed forward and pulled Gildarts into a tight hug, as if he were a lifelong friend rather than a boy he had met only briefly. "You're alive," he murmured. There might have been tears in his eyes. At this stage, it wouldn't have surprised anyone.

The boy seemed taken aback by this welcome. "I… I guess? You know, it's strange to be hugged _by_ someone. It was always the other way round with him."

Then, without warning, the boy wriggled out of his grip and scrambled backwards, holding up his hands as if to ward him off. White sparks flickered around the boy's fingertips, and Makarov understood. "I can't fully control it yet," Gildarts offered apologetically. "So it's probably best to stay back for the time being…"

"But you can control it a little," Warrod observed. "You held your magic back from striking us just now. That's not what you told us, Makarov," he added, though his tone was more thoughtful than accusing.

"Yeah," Ivan seconded, and his tone certainly _was_ accusing. He narrowed his eyes towards the boy. "If you can do that, why didn't you control it when it tried to kill us all back in Magnolia?"

"I couldn't!" the boy insisted. "I didn't know how! But I do now, because he taught me!"

"Who's 'he'?" inquired Makarov.

"The man who lives on the island!"

Makarov and Warrod exchanged glances. "No one lives on this island," remarked the Guild Master. "Do they?"

"No. It was abandoned decades ago, and the wards have been up ever since."

"He said he was the only one," the boy piped up helpfully. "He's right there- oh." He had turned to point at the clifftop he had come from, only to find it deserted. "That's odd. He was right there, I just checked. He said he'd wait in case you actually _were_ here to kill me… Oh, I don't think you're going to do that any more, though!"

Makarov asked, "What was his name?"

"Dunno, he never told me," the boy shrugged. "I don't think he liked names much. He never used mine. Maybe he didn't have one. That's kind of sad, isn't it?"

"What was he like, then?"

"He was _really_ weird. He knew _loads_ about magic, and he never yelled at me even when I hurt him. And he hated getting up in the morning, and he kept throwing me in the sea, and he had this imaginary friend called Mavis-"

"Mavis?" Makarov interrupted, startled. Even Warrod was looking at the boy with renewed interest.

"Oh, do you know her too?" Gildarts asked conversationally.

"Mavis is… the name of the founder and First Master of my guild. Her final resting place is on this island."

The boy's eyes opened impossibly wide. "Mavis is a ghost!" And rather than being shocked or sad or confused by this news, he declared triumphantly, _"That makes so much sense!"_

"…It does?"

"Yeah! That must be why I couldn't see her or hear her! And no wonder he always looked so sad; it's because Mavis is dead! Oh, I hope I didn't hurt her feelings when I called her imaginary. It didn't occur to me that she might have been a ghost! Oh – what if they were _both_ ghosts?"

He turned his bright gaze towards an utterly lost Makarov. "That would explain a lot, wouldn't it?" the boy chattered. Fortunately for the Guild Master, he seemed happy to assess the hypothesis himself. "That's how he vanished just now, and why he never got injured from my magic. But, hang on, he couldn't see Mavis either, could he? Can't ghosts see other ghosts?"

It took several seconds before Makarov realized that this one wasn't rhetorical. "I don't know…"

The boy clapped his hands together in sudden understanding. "Maybe, if someone is killed by a ghost, they can come back as a ghost that haunts other ghosts! Like a ghost-ghost! Can ghosts kill people?"

"I really have no idea…" Makarov said weakly.

"Maybe I'll find another one and ask them! Once I've learnt to use my power properly, like he said I'd be able to, I'll travel all over the world looking for ghosts- hey, are you alright?"

For Makarov had burst into tears. He dashed forwards and swept the astonished boy up in his arms once again, holding him close and sobbing all the while.

"Umm…" ventured the boy. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to-"

But the others understood. To the boy, Makarov was practically a stranger, but to Makarov, the boy was like a son. He had thought of nothing else for the past few days, and blamed himself for all that the boy was going through; he would never have forgiven himself if any harm had come to him. In a few short days the boy had become everything to him, and he loved him like he loved any member of his guild: as family. To see him here not only alive, but cheerful and inquisitive and brighter than anything… it was more than he could have hoped for, and he felt as though his heart might burst with it.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed to the boy. "I should never have left you alone on the island. I should have stayed with you… I should have done something… I shouldn't have abandoned you in a strange place…"

"But I liked it here!" Gildarts protested. "It's like being on holiday, and I've never been on holiday before. I got to explore the whole island and meet loads of monsters! And I loved the beaches, and the birds were so friendly, and the sky-! I've never seen anything so amazing. I'm happy that I could come here before I hurt anyone else."

"…You really mean that?" the Guild Master sniffed. "You don't… hate me?"

"Of course I don't! I'm really glad I came to this island. In fact, I don't really want to leave, but he said I had to and I think he might be right. Can I come on the boat with you?"

Mistaking Makarov's surprise as concern, Gildarts added, "I've been practising, and I think I'll be able to not destroy the boat. I managed to not destroy the coconuts – not until the very end, anyway – and I have this now." He pushed the staff he was carrying into Makarov's hand. The Guild Master took it without thinking; without even looking at it. "I'll try really hard not to put anyone in danger. You can even throw me in the sea again if you want-"

"Of course you can come on the boat!" Makarov burst out. "We'll take you home. Have you got everything that you want to bring with you?"

"Yeah! Well, I don't have the tent because I couldn't carry it, but… do you think we could leave it on the island for him? He seemed to like it quite a lot…"

"I suppose so," came the somewhat dazed response. "Ivan, take Gildarts onto the ship and find somewhere to store his belongings. Then start rounding up the others."

Ivan opened his mouth, probably to object to being used as an errand-boy, but it was at that moment that Gildarts beamed at him, and Ivan found himself just as disarmed by that honest gratitude as a certain Black Mage had been. "Okay, fine, come with me," he muttered, and set off with the boy trotting along at his heels.

Makarov and Warrod remained where they were, the former staring in puzzlement at the staff in his hands and the latter gazing out across the trees. Makarov ventured, "You don't think it's possible that there is someone on the island, do you?"

After a pause, the tree-mage shook his head. "The island was empty when we set the barriers up, and no one could have got through them since without a Guild Master's permission. Precht never let any strangers onto our holy ground, and you would know if _you_ had, so it's simply impossible for anyone to be here."

"I know, but… I didn't lose control of my magic earlier, I swear it. It felt more like it had been deliberately countered… dispelled… as if someone had negated it intentionally so that the boy would be forced to control his magic himself."

"I don't think there's a mage alive with the skill to spontaneously counter your Three Pillar Gods."

"But I didn't lose control!"

"I'm not saying you did. Perhaps you lowered the barrier yourself without consciously realizing it, for the same reasons you just gave me. Or perhaps… well, the magic on this island has always been beyond my comprehension. Stranger things have happened here. I understand your concern, Makarov, but no one can be on this island without us knowing about it."

"The boy knew Mavis's name, though."

"Which he could have learned from her headstone, if he'd wandered down to the grave," Warrod reasoned gently.

"I know… I just don't think he was lying."

"About meeting a ghost?" Warrod chuckled. "Neither do I, but that doesn't mean he was _right_ , per se. He was left alone in a bizarre and unfamiliar environment right after going through a traumatic experience. There's every chance that this ghost is a figment of his imagination, or perhaps some manifestation of the island's own magic, created so that he would not have to face this unknown place alone. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened here… you know the First Master's story as well as I."

He had thought that this logical theory would settle the matter, and yet Makarov countered, "And this figment of his imagination just happens to have a vast knowledge of ancient runes?"

"…What?"

Makarov passed the staff to Warrod, indicating the repairs that had been done to it. "This definitely did not look like that when we left it with the boy. It's been broken and fixed again."

"It might not be the same one you left him," the elder mage argued. "He could have found it in the ruins of the village on the island. I'm sure there are many magical treasures hidden here that we missed the first time round."

"It's too much of a coincidence. Look at this." Makarov ran his finger over a cluster of runes close to the bottom of the staff. "Does this do what I think it does?"

"It looks like it's been modified to repel the boy's magic." The two of them exchanged glances. "I wonder if it works. The boy seemed to think that it would."

Makarov spoke up, quietly, "I find the implication that the boy did this on his own even harder to believe than the idea of him being taught to control his magic by a ghost."

"Taught magic by a ghost…?" Warrod echoed. The relaxed humour had gone from his voice; there was a surprisingly intense look in those old eyes as he scanned their surroundings once again. "A ghost from the past, who avoids people, refuses to give his name, and speaks often of Mavis…? No, it couldn't be…"

"Warrod?" prompted the puzzled Guild Master. "What's wrong?"

"…Nothing." Warrod shook his head. Neither the Second nor the Third Master had lowered the barriers, but it wasn't impossible that one could pass through if they had the _First_ Master's permission… "I think it may be best if we don't ask too many questions about what happened here. We didn't exactly part on the best of terms after Mavis's death…"

With a heavy sigh, Makarov yielded to the elder mage's decision. "Well, whatever happened here, I'm grateful for it. Though, it seems I've dragged you and the others all the way out here for nothing."

"Don't worry about it. I'm always happy for an excuse to visit dear old Tenrou Island. And I have no doubt that the others would gladly have spent a day sailing back and forth just for the sake of seeing you back to your old self again."

Makarov's response – whether emotional or haughty – was cut off by the sound of footsteps. They turned to see Robin hurtling across the beach towards them, pursued by a cross-looking Porlyusica. "Where is he?" the man was shouting. "Where's Gildarts?"

"UNCLE ROBIN!"

A delighted squeal tore through the air, closely followed by a sonic boom as a ball of black and orange energy tore down the gangplank faster than should have been humanly possible and flung himself towards his uncle. At the last possible moment, he caught sight of Robin's broken arm and stopped with a horrified gasp. "I did that, didn't I? I hurt you, and I destroyed your house… I'm so sorry…"

His uncle gave a firm shake of his head. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I should have seen how they were treating you… I should never have let things get this far. I should have gone to a mage guild to get help for you years ago. I'm so sorry for letting you down."

"But you _did_ get help for me," the boy sniffed. "You brought me to these people, even after everything I did…"

"None of that was your fault, kid. No one blames you for what happened."

"But I…"

"Come here." He crouched down, and when Gildarts shuffled forwards hesitantly, Robin pulled his nephew into a one-armed hug. Porlyusica glared daggers at them both for this recklessness, but when Makarov shook his head, she managed to refrain from pulling her patient away.

"Are we good?" Robin asked his nephew softly, and the boy nodded. "Good."

When the boy finally stepped away, hastily forcing inquisitive white magic back into his fingertips, Makarov, Warrod and Porlyusica were all stood watching him. He cast a hopeful glance back up to the top of the cliff, and only upon finding it just as empty as before did he turn his attention back to the adults present with a rueful smile. "So… what happens now?"

"We should leave as soon as possible," Warrod said, and Makarov knew that while the old mage had helped him adjust the barrier to bring his friends from other guilds onto the island, he was very much in favour of the strangers leaving before they could uncover more of Fairy Tail's secrets. When Makarov nodded his assent, he added, "I'll meet you back on the boat," and he strode towards the gangplank. Porlyusica went somewhat reluctantly to help round up the rest of the rescue party.

Gildarts, Robin and Makarov glanced awkwardly at each other. "We should get going as well," said the Guild Master. "If you still want to come with us, that is."

"I do!" the boy said immediately. "Though…" He cast one final glance over his shoulder, and then ventured, "But, what I really meant was… what happens when we get back? I don't have a home any more…"

"You're more than welcome to come and live with me," Robin jumped in at once. "Well, we're staying with Grandma and Grandpa until we can get our house rebuilt, but there's always room for one more, and your cousins would love to see you. There's a guild in our city, so we'll be able to get help for you if your magic starts acting up again. But…"

His voice tailed off. As Gildarts looked between the two men, confused, Robin gave Makarov an encouraging nod. The short Guild Master stepped forwards, clearing his throat nervously. "Well, if you wanted, Gildarts… you could always stay in my guild. We can teach you to use your magic properly, and to go on jobs and work as a mage… We have quite a lot of young members, and even Ivan said he wanted you to stay with us."

Well, Ivan's exact words had been _after all this, he'd better prove to be a worthwhile asset for the guild,_ but Makarov thought he'd come round. Probably.

"Though," he added hurriedly, "I'd understand if you never wanted to use magic again in your life, let alone become a professional mage. And even if you did, you probably wouldn't want to stay in Fairy Tail to do it. I gave you the guild mark without your consent, and then I left you here on your own, so I'd completely understand if you wanted nothing to do with me or my guild ever again… I'm not sure I'm even fit to lead this guild, after what I did to you…"

"That's not true at all!" the boy burst out. "You saved Uncle Robin, and brought me to this awesome island, and gave me a really cool tent, and then you went and found all these people to come and help me, _and_ you just offered to let me stay in your guild and teach me magic… you did all that for me, and I don't even know you! I think you're the best Guild Master ever!" The boy placed his hands on his hips and gazed resolutely at Makarov. "Oh, and Mavis thinks so too."

Makarov blinked. "She does?"

"Yes," came the stubborn response. "And if you can't hear her either, then you can't prove me wrong."

"I… I guess not, but…"

Robin came to the flummoxed Guild Master's rescue. "Kid, am I to take it that you want to stay with Master Makarov's guild?"

"I want to learn to use my magic properly. I want to explore the whole world and help the people I meet. I want to be a proper mage, and… and I want to be part of Mavis's guild. That way, it's like I'm not really saying goodbye." Suddenly anxious, he glanced up at his uncle. "Is that okay?"

"Of course. It's your decision, kid, and I think you're very brave. You'll make a great mage. I'll come and visit you all the time, I promise."

"And… it's okay with you, too?" he checked, turning to Makarov.

"Of course it's okay. It's more than okay. I'd love for you to be part of my guild."

And the two of them grinned at each other, the Guild Master with his exhaustion forgotten and the boy with his loneliness far behind him; almost complete strangers and yet somehow closer than family.

"If you're quite finished down there, we're ready to go," Ivan's irritated voice drifted down to them.

The three of them hurried on board, and the ship set sail. It was the first time Gildarts had ever been on a boat while in his right mind, and everything about it was new to him – the spray of the waves; the rush of the wind; the great unfurling sails; the energy in the air as the guild mages ran about the deck – and as he watched them in sheer wonder, his magic remained dormant.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of red, and he turned to see two great crimson birds gliding alongside the ship. He gave a cry of joy, and they mimicked him, spiralling upwards with their wings outstretched and swooping low over the deck. The sailors scattered with shouts of surprise, but he held his hands out to them, and they swirled around him happily.

"Did he send you to say goodbye?" he whispered.

They gave non-committal caws and their wings flared, carrying them up into the sky as the boat pulled away, but a broad grin burst to life upon his face anyway. He ran to the back of the ship, waving both arms above his head, and he yelled at the top of his lungs towards the receding island, "Goodbye, Mister Ghost! Goodbye, Ghost Mavis! Thank you for everything!"

And he waved and he waved until the Tenrou Tree's silhouette had faded to nothing – one final farewell to the strangest and most wonderful place he had ever been and would ever go, and to the man who, for a handful of days, had made it feel like home.

* * *

Long after the ship had been swallowed by the horizon, Zeref remained stood at the top of his favourite cliff, looking out across the sea.

"He'll be fine," he sighed; a rebuttal to the doubts that had been pestering him nonstop since the boy had left. "He's with your guild, isn't he?"

And then he laughed. "If there's one thing to sum up just how backwards these past few days have been, I suppose it's _me_ telling _you_ to trust in Fairy Tail."

He didn't say anything for a long time, watching the sunlight dance like diamonds upon the crests of waves far below. There was something enchanting about it, something he had not noticed before, though he must have looked upon this view a thousand times.

"Well," said he, at last. "Things will be getting back to normal around here from now on. This doesn't change anything, Mavis. It was four days and nothing more. You knew that when you brought him to me."

The waves crashed against the rocks; the cicadas hummed; up in the branches of the Great Tenrou Tree, the birds sang their familiar chorus. Old sounds. Ordinary sounds. Sounds that had never been wondrous to him before the boy came along, and sounds that would no doubt cease to be wondrous again very soon, though he hoped they might remain this way for a little while longer.

He thought one final time about the boy who had been made to feel worthless by those who should have loved him, and about the certainty he had felt on that day: _I can't do anything about this._

He remembered, too, the answer which had come to him from the island, or perhaps from himself; from the figurative little voice that other men might have called a conscience, but which he attributed to the one who had been all that was good in him, while she had lived. He had thought his heart had died when she had, but it had since proven itself to be merely hibernating, waiting for the most inappropriate moment to wake up and make life difficult for him again…

 _You don't need to do anything about it,_ she had said _. You need only to be kind._

And the boy had been able to trust him anyway; to love him anyway; to pick himself up, face forwards, and find the reason and the strength to keep walking on.

"I know," he conceded softly. "For the boy, those four days may have changed everything. But for me, four unusual days – four days in which I was very much not acting as myself – make no difference whatsoever. You know me better than that."

If a reply came to him, he did not deem it worthy of a response. Two specks of crimson in the cloudless sky caught his attention: two of the boy's beloved birds, the departing boat's guard of honour, returning to their island home. "Oh?" he asked of their distant, wheeling forms. "You went to say goodbye?"

He was not expecting an answer, but he received one, of a sort; both birds dived towards him, wings flaring wide to cut short their breakneck fall only metres from the ground. They fluttered around him, always an inch or two out of reach, but no more than that. "This is unusual," he observed. "You never normally come this close to me."

One of them landed on the ground beside him and folded its wings. He noticed at once what the boy had not – the bird's magnificent peacock tail was crumpled and slightly bent, as if it had been trapped beneath something: this was the same bird that the boy had freed from the boulder. It trained one opalescent eye upon him and gave an expectant caw.

"Does this mean you've forgiven me, then?" he asked softly. "Well, I thought it would work out in the end, and it did, didn't it?"

The fire-red bird trilled its agreement, and craned its long neck towards him. He reached out obligingly, and then froze. Frowning, he withdrew his hand and took a sharp step back. "Still, you shouldn't be here. I'm not your friend." He shooed them away, and both birds took to the air. "Go on, get away from me. That kid would never forgive me if I hurt you."

Folding his arms, he watched as they soared towards the forest and disappeared into the canopy, twin rubies settling into a crown of emerald and gold.

"Good. Maybe now I can finally get some rest. And I don't know why _you're_ looking so smug," he snapped, and with a ferocious glare to the empty air beside him, he strode off in search of some peace and quiet.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Aaaaand we're done. I was very conflicted over where to end this story. There are a lot of scenes that could be written if I went into canon material: a potential reunion during the Tenrou arc, Gildarts's conflict over learning his saviour's identity (and ultimately having to fight against him), Gildarts freaking out upon meeting the real Mavis, August completely losing it during their fight if he ever found out... but the problem is, none of those scenes are **endings**. They're all snapshots of a much larger story. Not one of them would provide a satisfactory conclusion to **this** story. So I'd prefer to leave it open with regard to the canon timeline than force it through several disconnected hoops to try and close it completely at the expense of its structure as a story. __So, I am sorry to those of you who were hoping that this story would jump into the future... but this is the right place for me to end it._

 _Thank you to anyone who has read this odd little fic all the way through to the end! And a huge thank you to anyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story. Writing a cute story like this was a nice change of pace for me. I wanted a chance to explore the side of Zeref we don't get to see often enough: the man who could have fallen in love with Mavis, and still be in love with her after a hundred years; the man who refrained from mass destruction for a century after losing the one person he cared about, even though he had every right to rage against the world; the man who might have been moved to take in the lost child he happened across without any indication that they were related; the man who decided "the world has rejected me and forced me into this sad and lonely existence, but sure, I'll help with your plan to save it from Acnologia, no problem"... I had a lot of fun writing him like that. I truly hope you enjoyed reading it. ~CS_


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